So it is time to write.
It had always been
But the words were a tad shy.
In the chaotic green room
A noun would nod her head
A jumpy little preposition
Would whisper, “You go ahead!”
The adjectives would line up
The editor would tut-tut
And drive them willy-nilly
An edgy pronoun, ‘I’ to be specific
Would peer around the curtain, heave a sigh
Look down, ponder, and wonder ‘why?’
Why does it have to be so tough
To just talk
To just express
To just be oneself and not obsess
With accuracy, with detail
With what words really entail
Is it not possible to just let them flow
Let them decide where they want to go?
Back in the greenroom
Getting crowded, it was
“Let us out, let us out
Too many stories trapped here about!”
Finally ‘Me’ sauntered in and looked around
An objective avatar of ‘I’
She was abstract, not proud.
With a flick of her wrist, she pulled the curtain apart.
She winked at the words, who tumbled out fast.
Let them dance. Let them sing.
Let them tell their stories.
Let’s see what they bring.