I can feel
when something needs to be put to page.
A breeze from nothingness
touches the space between reality and dreams
whispers to the space behind my mind
my hands are no longer my own
for something must be said.
Something in that melody
that tree
that smile
spoke to the 'she'
who feels so much all the time
without shame, on good days
and through veils of tears on the bad.
'She' takes ownership of my hands
puts pen to pad
or life to keys
and spews the bubbling of hope
joy
or rage
that cannot be contained,
when 'she' feels.
She annoys me, some days
when there are other things to do
Alas, its of no consequence
'she' must have her way
'she' must say her peace
So - what is it today?
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