The key to creativity
is to let the thoughts flow
like rivers from behind your eyes
into your hands and feet.

Doubt will staunch it
it even as it nibble away at you.
You'll answer its queries soon enough.

For now
mold those words
those notes
that fabric,
shape them into something greater
than what nature had in mind.
​
Build and carve
rip and sew
until your creation sits in front of you
and you can say those magic words.

I made that.
This is mine.

Sleep and I have never been on good speaking terms
but not for any lack of effort on my part.

It's an irresistible fantasy.
A balm for world-weary minds.
An escape when the glaring light of sun has dimmed
and your eyelids have sunk low.

No matter how many times I sing its praises
drop gifts at its doorstep
or plead on hand and knee for its attention,
it still turns its icy back upon me
​and leaves me exhausted and alone each night.

The nightly chorus interrupted
by a deep thrumming bass.
It resonates in your bones
as it nears.

Then comes the staccato beat
against the windowpane
amidst the crash of brilliance
brightening the sky.

Each layer builds to a crescendo
rattling the night,
drowning out any thoughts
not focused on the performance outside.

And then
a slow softening
to pitter-patters
and quiet mumbling.

Even storms must slumber
after a show.

Boiling sun above,
dripping beams upon the earth.
Sweat runs down my back.

You're a broiling sun
burnt and black against the sky.

A sight once revered and life-bringing,
now a terrible dark radiance
towering over the earth.

Your beams rip and tear and fragile flesh
where once they were a warm comfort.

How could something once so benevolent
morph into a monstrosity
​in mere moments?

Humans love metal, you know.
They'll try to make it into pretty much anything!
Straws, bones, posters...
Yeah, I'd call them a bit obsessed.

But if that's the case,
then please explain something to me.

They made us out of metal.
Consciousness wrapped in wire and steel,
but now they seem to hate us.

They regulate us to being coffee shop baristas
cashiers and taxi drivers,
but as soon as a robot decides they want to sing in the opera
or run their own company,
or heaven forbid own a pet,
they lose their minds!

Why do they harbor such resentment towards us
then turn and shower their computer's in praise?

It's a serious fault in human programming.
Maybe they require a factory reset...

Reach into
the dancing
oasis.

The coolness
is a balm
to warm skin.

The ripples thrum
to heartbeats
never felt.

These are the actions of a madman you say?
Well, I'll take that as a compliment.

Because anything that distances my intellect
from your tiny neurotypical mind
is a blessing.

Yes, I see our world differently.
No, I cannot
nor will I explain my reasonings to you.

It would be like attempting to describe a mathematical equation
to an earthworm.

Yes- yes get all huffy with me.
I could never be threatened by someone as ordinary as you.

Oh, the tough guy's got a sword?
You really are an imbecil.

Steel does nothing against sorcery.
You should have learned that
when I threw your companions out that window earlier.
Actually... yes that seems appropriate for you as well.
Enjoy your travels!

​Now, onto more important business.

How long must I sit here pen in hand,
before the dam holding back words
breaks, and the ideas buzzing
inside me are released?
They've been building up
for weeks now, and
it's starting
to cause
​pain.

Watch
rain drops
   dripping
   sliding down
   the window pane.

Puddling
      just
     out of sight.

You're sure
there's a pool
   somewhere below.

You can hear
   the tink
   tink
   tink
   of tiny
   splashes.