The Writer

When did you know you were a writer?

When I realised I had words inscribed all over me
Works of hope
Works of love
Words of terror
Words I just had to get out of me
Words maybe others wanted to hear
When I felt a knot in my throat
And somehow my heart cried
Louder than my vocal chords and said
Write this
What you feel and see in me
In as high fidelity as possible

When I realised writing made time stand still as it slipped through my fingers
When I realised I could capture moments
And retrace back my steps
Write a new ending or relive
The moment to moment
Again and again

When I realised my heart pumped ink
And I just had to let it spill

Writing what’s in my heart is the closest thing to being
something divine I’ll ever be

When I realised my heart was a craftsman who enjoys stringing
words together
Into precious jewels
And it just drops them along the way
Just because
It can’t keep them all to himself
He freely gives them away

Because there’s plenty more were that came from
Because truth was made to be told or it rusts
and corrodes the soul

When I realised my heart was a dancer
and it’s footprints were words of a rhythm only it could hear

And I hummed you know
For anyone else who’d like to dance along ~