Down with these walls...

I think my writer’s block is crumbling
My mind has been churning and the words have been outwardly tumbling
Fumbling from my mouth
At first in a clumsy manner
But soon skillfully as if I had every answer
The truth is here
Etching it’s likeness on the underside of my innards
Reversed tattoos you’d have to look into the mirror to decode
In a script reminiscent of the dead sea scrolls
Forgotten secrets I never knew I was told
Waiting to be birthed
Timeless relics waiting to be unearthed
Gently brushed off and held in the light
In personal writing sessions or perhaps at an open mic
The new wave
High renaissance of the soul
So many stories to tell
Buckets waiting to be brought up the well
I feel them churning
The words chanting in finite space
Burning
Yearning to breathe their own breath as babies do when cut from the umbilical cord
Threatening to perform their own C section
I am overwhelmed
Astounded
Lost
Not truly knowing where
To begin