I can feel the burn of words as they claw their way up my throat

melting on my tongue, but never making it past my lips.

I hear a voice in my head:

Your words are too loud for such a quiet girl.

You've got too many thoughts for the world girl.

You don't deserve to speak these words girl.

stay quiet girl.

My heart has a stronger pull than gravity,

the heaviness in my heart belongs to my words.

I hear another voice:

Don't let us die on your tongue girl. Don't let us rot on your tongue.

Let us out of this prison that you are girl. 

Your lungs are rotting from the unused air from never speaking.

Your mind is rotting too many thoughts left for dead, molding in the corners of your mind.

Speak girl. Please, girl, speak.

I bleed onto paper, my blood the colour of pencil lead.

I look at how pretty it looks made into words, made into formations into pretty formations

how pretty my words look arranged in pretty sentences. How pretty my ugly thoughts look.

I see how pretty my pain and ugly words look when you use the proper words.

how pretty they look when you put them in the right order.

how pretty my mind feels no cleansed of all those words

I'm addicted

addicted to the feel of release

addicted to the feel of speaking

addicted to the way my words look.

I can feel flowers grow in the corners of my mind 

I can feel a garden growing inside me.

I can hear the poetry in my words, how the poetry has been sitting 

waiting, just waiting to come out of me.