The Stories That Want

I keep the stories locked in my head. I keep them from you, out of fear that you will hate them. I keep them from myself, out of a deep shame for dreaming them up. The thousand, thousand stories and poems and pieces of prose are all piled up inside my head. A thousand, thousand voices all screaming and begging to be set free. To be created. They all want to get out. They all want to be heard. They all want to be read. They all want to be told. They want to inspire, most of all. They want to inspire hopes and dreams and stir up emotions in the secret hearts that read and hear them. But alas, here I am, sitting here with pen and paper, in front of my computer screen, not knowing which one to start with or how.
But I think of you, and I can hear the words spoken in our voices, yours and mine together.
And, at last, I begin.