It's time
Alright. 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 Enthusiastically 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 tu