This is How I Know

When my thoughts are rushing,

Broken 'cross the view,

No thread or rhyme or bleeding,

Just pieces, snapshots without glue,

But I pause and sit with paper

And through the pen held tight,

This is how I know

That I have got to write.

When I'd rather another's words,

Rather scroll and absorb my apps,

Consume any other material

Than face what within me feel like traps

Where my feelings are overwhelming

And cause me to put up a fight,

This is how I know

That I have got to write.

I've read authors who felt the same.

They said it's not a want but a need.

But I can't believe I'm playing their game,

Mine is just a hobby I like to feed.

But then the dreams come back to crush me

And I'm falling late at night.

This is how I know

That I have got to write.

I'm disconnected from myself

Until one of two things happen:

Either music says what I'm unable,

Or words on paper are like climbing rope to fasten,

A line of safety to catch my fall

And soothe the frenzied midnight fright.

This is how I know

That I have got to write