the books call me from the womb of my mind

I want to establish

the plans ache & beg to be born

I want to paint

the colors, never seen cry out in oblivion

My stories, my places, my scenes & images

My kaleidoscope collages

are there, their non-existent

existence so strong they pain me

to come into being into creation

into acknowledgement

I fight because it’s not time

I fight because I’m busy

I fight because I fear

The art is a foreign body inside of

& part of me waiting to burst forth

to destroy me & reinvent me because

I have not yet become who I am

it is so strong my chest hurts at the

thought of it

it is so strong I feel butterflies

in my stomach

it is so strong my heart pounds in

anxiety

I say “I will, I will, I will” to calm

my beautiful mess, the artistic beast inside of me

She says “sing!” & I say “but I need training”

She says “dance!” but I say “I need classes”

She says “draw!” but I say “I need lessons”

She says “build it & they will come!” but

I say “not yet”

She says “write!” but I say “what if no one

reads it”

She says “YOU ARE THE ONE YOU ARE WAITING FOR”

and I say “I know but…”

And then there is silence.

LOUD, Ridiculously EAR DEAFENING SILENCE

Because I KNOW.