Counting Fireflies

There are words flying around in the air like fireflies inside my mind. I might need a net to catch some of the words that want to be said. The words multiplying inside me I fear will start dripping like water from a leaking faucet out of my ears. These words are so loud like the whir of a giant crowd I'm afraid I'll never be able to get them all out. My words are impatient and they've been standing in line for quite some time. Some of them are becoming exhausted and worn so they are acting out and my brain is suffering their scorn. I feel pushing and shoving and pulling and tugging. There is not enough space in the vast outer space that I describe as my mind. It is filling so quickly with moments and memories so these miscellaneous muttered words are being dispersed failing to make it out alive. My words are so cramped inside my head that they commit suicide instead. They take a dive off of the cliff into the deep abyss of my existence never to have ever even existed. I can't possibly sit here and sift through all of the dozens of piles of dirt and ash in an attempt to salvage any of them. They are gone, lost with all of the rest. Those crazy words of mine are strong but without each other become unknown and before I know it are long gone, never to have touched the page. Like they died of old age because I could never find the way to simply say anything. I hate that I was the murder of their fate. These young words are born into my mind so often but are rarely given a chance to live, see the sun shine or here the birds sing, to ever become anything. It is sad to me now to see all of the damage I've caused my self, my brain. It's enough to drive any one insane. I made a habit of hitting pause and just never looking back again. I'd press the pen to the pad but cry instead. I was holding these words as hostages in my head. All of that time spent and all of those beautiful rhymes sent are now dead and buried. Why didn't I do more to help them escape? I could have stopped those innocent words and gave them a home, a better fate, instead I did nothing to have them saved and now they are dead. Of lessons learned, being severely burned, locking up my feelings and words and beating them numb I still can't seem to let them up. I think I'm on a power trip. I refuse to let that leaky faucet drip. I've been held back for so so long that being set free is hindering my creativity. I'm not used to having free range and freedom to let the words speak. I have so much time freed that the words in my mind all find a way to be awake and vying for my attention at the same time. I want to give them a way to be free and enjoy this journey with me. They too deserve a chance to be free. I want my words to take the window seat so they can see what I've seen. My poor words need some TLC and an outlet from which to be set free. I can finally let go of this rail and let my hair down to be blown in the wind. These flipping, fumbling, tumbling crazed words in my head belong somewhere other than my bustling brain. A poem, a song or a story perhaps is where my words belong instead. No more pausing my game til the end. No more letting anyone hold me back again. No more neglecting the best friends I will ever have. My thoughts. My confidants. My allies. My fireflies.