Get it all down on paper, these words, these words, these words.
Needing to write, needing to expel, needing to expound.
The words swirl around like a tornado waiting to touch down. Consonants and vowels, hurricane strength, needing a soft place to land.
I must get this ink on the page.
I am dying to let loose.
There is a void, a dark, dark void and it needs to be filled with words.
Words on paper, virtuous paper.
Can't let too much time go by without my words. Stay sat here. Sit and write.
Ebb and flow. Flow and ebb.
I've always been on the outside looking in, clutching my beloved words to my chest.
Set the words free.
Ink on the page.
Feeling bold. My words compel me. I am diligent in their exercise.
I have to write. I need to write.
Sometimes I wish the need wasn't so visceral, wasn't so strong.
But then I wouldn't be me.
Who am I, then?
The girl with the pen.
Paper at the ready.
Compositions waiting to be explored.
Time to get that ink on the page.
I feel I am most myself when I write. My writing is the truest representation of me. I think that's why I feel the compulsion to write. What do you think drives your compulsion? Thanks for the poem - beautiful, relatable words.
Do it!!! X