The Maddening Whispers


The Maddening Whispers

I can hear the whispers coming from the books.

They're calling to the echoes in my head.

I’m surrounded by people but the stories I hear

Come from the imagined beings in my mind,

Crying to be let out.

When I write, it’s as if I’m a medium

For a stranger’s story that needs to be told.

They push from the inside out.

I want to scream. Not from pain or anger,

Just in a hope that I can release at least one story

into the universe.

It would be faster than listening to the whole thing

And never getting it exactly right.

It’s giving life to someone—something—that should have been

But never was.

In the end, I can’t tell if it’s genius running through me

Or just a full stomach.

Love & Fancy Things,
Rachel

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