growing slowly:standing still

all of my words are fighting.
they bicker and shove one another,
they toss lit matches into barrels of gasoline
because maybe it will catch my attention.
my words are in a struggle for their lives.
when my earbuds aren’t playing music,
i hear the words desperately
climbing over one another like ivy,
reaching for my ears,
reaching for my eyes,
reaching for my hands so that they will be born.
i am their creator yet they command me to
make them stronger.
add a metaphor next to me,
one cries.
add a metaphor on both sides of me,
another shrieks.
stampedes of words
who would kill
for me to choose them.
the only moment they live for
is when i pick up a pencil,
grasp it tightly,
pull a notebook closer,
and finally write down
all
the
words.