It's an Itch

I heard a story, once, About a woman convinced that bugs Crawled beneath her scalp She scratched and scratched And scratched because she had to get them out I write Not because I want to create new worlds Or entertain others Or be recognized But because I have all these words Itching across my brain I need to get them out somehow So I scratch Scratch pencil across paper Slash red pen, leaving bloody marks Tear upon the keyboard with thin nails Until every word is out If my compulsion leaves any scars At least they aren’t physical