word vomit

there are worlds of words inside of me

and none of them are happy with me 

they scratch at my stomach and grind my gut lining

they want out - badly

but I ignore their cries as they slosh around

because I am terrified of how they'll sound 

when I hear them in the mouths of others

or read them aloud 

they always seem to sound so much sweeter 

honey and vinegar 

reprises of self doubt 

I wonder why any creative questions their will to create

but I continue to repeat the same mistakes 

honestly, wanting them to exist is my only real wish 

and all the unexpressed possibilities 

are slowly killing me

Not everything is a poem 

But I am not everything without them 

out in the world 

So finally I show imposter syndrome the door 

and take a seat on the brown tile floor 

I curl over the cold porcelain 

and let the sickness of unworthiness pour and pour and pour 

I am a broken hose 

but at least I am free

I laugh almost wildly when I see

every letter of the alphabet, like alphabet soup, in the bowl below me