Today I woke up before the sun
With feelings choked in the back of my throat;
So I reached for my notebook,
Flipped on the light,
Took a deep breath—
Pen poised above paper
Waiting for emotion to vault to the surface
And tumble out into the ink of my pen.
But my fingers were stiff;
So was my mind.
I wanted to screamed so someone could hear,
But my throat was closed,
And the only screams I could manage
Were the kind that vibrate through nerves,
Ricochet off bone:
The silent kind,
Chastising my decrepit soul for its refusal to untangle the knot of unknown feelings,
Obstructing the pathway to my waiting hand.