The mind of creative creatures.... (poem)

Magic In My Mind

when i slip clauses before pauses
or totally refuse to adhere to rules of written words
i find authentic freedom...
i release strings of letters...neatly pocketed

i uproot comma's, place them in slingshots
and hurl them into the atmosphere to create colorful rainbows that
brighten children's paths toward creative outlet and appreciation

i create images from deja vu
places my stories have been...fighting to be realized
giving me droplets of moments
frozen in time...some time...magic in my mind

i have no answer to where I get 'it' from
the ability to create isn't something I asked for
it's something that happens when I place pen to pad,
when I get mad,
when I'm glad, and
sadness catapults me to deny myself sleep
for the sake of a fucking word....

i am everything I'm am with this...this thing I can't describe
this thing that makes me write in-stores,
in-notebooks...I haven't paid for...yet
or tear out the pages, remove the ragged edges,
and stuff THE next literary masterpiece in my purse...close to my i.d.

this madness that makes me zone out sometimes;
mentally watching scenarios play,
wondering if something I'm
reading,
watching,
or listening to
is raping my mind; ejaculating subliminal messages rendering my brain
incompetent and beyond my control...which appears to be working

i have no idea what makes me
write and love to write,
write to read and read to love,
love to write about what i read,
and read to learn about what I love

it's impossible to explain what happens
without appearing mentally ill
but it's similar to you explaining, to me,
why you can't do it--
what happens that makes you unable to be creative?
from my perspective, I can't see how THAT is even possible...

there is no formula, rhyme, or reason
to my being able to make things up
it's really magic...in my mind

creator: God
told through: genesis