Ao-oa - The Beast

I don't think anyone
plans on being a writer.
it sort of just
happens to you;
like takes its toll, and
some respond in word,
and once you've started --
once you've let the
beast into your life --
you can never free yourself
of him.
you need him, to
survive, else you'll go
mad.

it starts innocently enough --
you write a poem,
or a story, and you
get the thought out,
and you think you're done;
but then, you start to wonder about
releasing other thoughts, and
then, every fleeting idea you have
becomes an anvil in your chest,
and you cannot stand straight
until you've written it down,
and left the weight
at the tip of the pen.

we didn't plan on being writers.
we are simply
plagued by the beast.

we are the delicate ones,
the aching few,
the bleeding few,
spilling out across note pages
and clinging desperately to our hearts.