When was the last time I was inspired to put pen to paper?
For the life of me I cannot remember...

Even now, my joints are dusty and stiff
How quickly they come alive, waking muscle memory from a deep slumber
the gears of my word bank shriek and scrap, begging for lubrication
I can feel the tension creep from my neck into my temples.

Words run the length of my nerves, miles of synapses, as millions of electrical messages are carried from the dank catacombs of my poetic cabinet.
They flow in the calm tide of my hand.
Hand to pen, pen to paper.

The seductive curves of each letter brings relief
The ink glides effortlessly from the pen
My hand remains suspended in time
With a release of "feel good" hormones in my brain,
for a moment, the fog dissipates.

My heart is leaping in my chest,
yearning to express itself in every way society prohibits

Thank you, poetry, for never abandoning me
Thank you for lying in wait

As I remove you from the damp, musty cabinet
I promise to allow you to make me whole again.
Please, stay with me.