Trapped.

I am a writer who writes with her heart.

I write with my soul,

And my soul writes with my spirit.

I am a jailer who traps ideas.

My mind holds words,

And the words hold me.

They want out,

They want to be heard,

Yet I hold them in,

Waiting for the right time to release them.

But.

But sometimes they escape.

Sometimes the words inside me break from their cell.

They overflow out my mouth and scorch who they touch.

The words inside me act like a blade,

They cut when they are wielded.

But the words keep coming.

I can't stop them.

They can do good,

I have a gift,

A beautiful gift.

My gift is to take in emotions,

And spit out words.

My very spirit is in words.

And so it is that my very spirit feels the pain of those words.

But.

I can't control them.

Too many ideas.

Too many words wanting out.

Wanting to be used.

So I sit down.

I bring out my heart, spirit, and soul,

And I write.