Words

I had forgotten the reason that I always stop writing. Although the words flow with such ease and are so stimulating, their power always takes me by surprise. 
My pen is the knife I use to cut so the Words can bleed and I can have peace. They are my release. With a pen and paper, the universe is unlocked. Nothing is censored, and nothing can be monitored. It just is. Like the breath in my lungs. 
Usually, I don’t even know what has been written until I close my eyes, take a deep breath and look again. It is like one of those pictures where you have to step back and let your vision adjust before you are able to see what is on the paper.
Sometimes I laugh, sometimes I cry. Almost always I am terrified. The authority in my Words comes as a reality check every time. From time to time, my Words take the breath from me. A bucket of ice water being poured over my head as I sleep. Occasionally the jolt can be refreshing. 
At first, Words are empowering. They are my thoughts, my light and my soul. But when I want to sleep, Words keep dancing in my head and crawling through my bed. I beg them to stop. I have to have a break. Silence from the chaos. They never listen.
They wake me up in the night. Many nights I can recall just me and my pen. I write on receipts, old pay stubs, even my arm if there is no paper.
When the alarm clock rings I open my eyes. The first thing I see is Words sharing a pillow with me. Sometimes they smile and sing me songs of good morning. Most likely they scream at me like a child needing to be fed. 
They are in my cereal bowl and on my toast. I eat Words for breakfast every morning. I make my way down the hallway and into the bathroom. Dammit Words!!!! Can’t I have any privacy? They sit on the counter top waiting for me to record them, on toilet paper if I have to. They don’t care. 
What is so important that they sing to me in the shower? I try to wipe them off onto a towel. But they evaporate back into the air and cling to my naked body. Words are horribly persistent. They tell me what to wear, which pants make me look fat and how I should do my hair.
When I leave for work, I try to trick Words. Lock them in my notebook and hide them in my drawer. But the Words always beat me out the door. Driving is their favorite time of day. They call all of their friends to come along for the ride. At times the company can be nice, but usually they are all speaking at once. I have even had to stop the car to silence Words onto paper.
I speak to Words very sternly before I go into work. STAY! I command them, as I lock the car. But shortly after I clock in I hear snickering and whispering. I can’t do anything about the Words now because I am on someone else’s time. When Words are ignored they become toxic, like a slow carbon monoxide leak. They start to make me nauseous and weak. They make me grouchy and tired. The Words that are supposed to be helping me are interfering with my every day life. I can’t wait for my break so I can let some of the Words free. I hope they will loosen their death grip on my concentration.
Five o’clock comes. I dash for the car. At every stoplight I put some of the Words to rest on the notebook sitting dangerously in my lap. Often, I can’t wait for the stoplight. I write as I drive.
When I get home, I walk into the house and am greeted by a litter of Words born while I was away. I never thought caring for Words was going to be so much work. I dance and play with them. I feed them dinner and let them tell be stories before bedtime.
I tuck them in and kiss them goodnight. Then I retreat to the living room where I am free for a couple of hours before I too turn in for the night. Ironically, I pull a book from the bookshelf and begin to read. But these are someone else’s Words, so it is ok. 
It doesn’t take long before I hear my Words sneaking up on me interrupting the meeting with my other friends.
“WORDS-” I bawl, “Your time is over!!!”
But before long I put down the book and turn to the Words that I wished for in the first place. Now I am just plain irritated, served with a side of exhaustion. I am too fatigued to argue with Words anymore. So I brush my teeth (theirs too of course), wash my face and crawl into bed.
“Goodnight Words.”
The silence lasts all but two minutes before Words coerce me out of bed. Exhaustion means nothing when Words are so loud. I tiptoe to the rocking chair and begin to rock my Words back to sleep. At least this time they brought the pen and paper.