My Soul

Sometimes, it is a compulsion that starts slowly, languidly, like soft oceans waves lapping lazily at the shore. It tingles in my fingertips, first, and then my brain, next. It is a gentle awareness, a ginger zap of electricity. It is just enough for me to begin writing – words upon words upon words, up to the thousands, or a poem of just a few lines. Sometimes, however, it is like a wildfire that rages out of control, all-consuming and absolutely fatal if not controlled. It burns all in it’s wake, persistent and terrible, and like a maddened composer, letters form upon the paper and become chaotic…or painfully beautiful words filled with aching sorrow, from the heart and the soul and the broken mind. However the compulsion begins, it is absolutely critical for my peace of mind that it starts in any fashion. The compulsion may start quietly or like a cacophony, but either way, it is my release…my outlet, the savior of my life. The words that I release are not merely words, but the deepest and most agonizing of wounds – the ones that fester with disease. They are also memories, stories, and experiences rich with unshakable love, happiness, joy, and sweetness. My words – why I write – are not just words, but they are me…on a page, on a screen, on whatever medium possible… my words are a direct representation of my beautifully flawed soul.