A Writer's Insanity

Sometimes I get jealous of people who tell me there are voices in their head.

“Only voices?” I wonder.

Because there are not just voices in my head.

There are entire worlds.

Whole galaxies filled with people and creatures ride my synapses like a subway.

There are full archives of conversations past, present, future, and imaginary.

(Sometimes these conversations are even with real people I actually know!)

There are transient words that float around in the unknowable void in my skull.

They drift aimlessly until the magnetism and gravity of another word pulls them in.

Clusters of words - thoughts, phrases, sentences - show their true form.

And from there it’s a race against time to get to a computer or a notebook,

Because if I don’t get them down they’ll implode or dissolve and be lost forever.

My favorite mixing bowl could fit over my head, but it can only hold enough batter for one cake.

So how is it that my brain contains stories and planets and lives untold?

That’s much more than a cake.

It shouldn’t be possible.

It doesn’t make any sense.

It thrills me and it scares me and it feels like a calling that I’m not sure I should move toward.

Sometimes it feels too powerful.

Sometimes it feels too dangerous.

Sometimes it feels too much like I’m the only one that cares.

Nevertheless, the swirling worlds and words persist.

It hardly seems fair for one person to be cursed with so much constant noise.

It hardly seems fair for one person to be so blessed with such secret wonders to behold.