I , me and my word

I wait for these moments, when I can write,

When I can feel the words like the river in spate,

When I can feel the fire glow from within,

When I can do nothing to let it fade away,

When I am forced to write the thoughts within me,

I am shut off from the world that surrounds me,

Kids can yell, husband can glower,

Milk can rot, or just boil over,

Food can wait, am thirsty not for water.

These are my moments, these are my world

Words words and words, they come out , as if they are running a race.

I cannot afford to build a dam, and seek out at a later time.

They don’t come, even if I cajole them later.

They are not there, when I am lonely and lost.

I wish I knew the trigger, I wish how to on the switch.

They appear from now where, just not caring, if it’s the right time.

It could be a picture, or just a painting.

It could be word or a friend smiling.

It could be an abstract gesture or just a touch.

The sluice of the heart just opens,

The feelings tumble down, for the words to hold.

Don’t see me then, I am a mad woman,

Running hither and thither, angry with the chores am doing,

All I want to do is to continue the writing,

Fire burning in the mind, or the heart, (always confusing).

I struggle to tame the spate, but they seem growing.

I start with a thought, and write the opposite,

I start with an emotion and end with a moral.

I cannot decide how to begin, am in no control of its end.

I have to search for words, in my limited mind,

Or use the google, to confuse my  thoughts.

I try all the tricks in the trade, write what I want to write.

Sometimes I am a sexist, sometimes a whore.

Sometimes I am a saint,  sometimes I am just a lost soul.

I am that, whatever I am writing then,

But you will never know, who I am,

Because as you read, you will read with your mind, not mine.