breathe

my tiny compact sphere
of words and phrases
had been a thousand times
clearer when i started,
delicately pressed and disciplined
like the seams of newly starched shirts.
but once my pen
began its dance with my paper,
i could only watch as my smooth collection
of syllables tumbled out of
their perfectly groomed exterior,
unable to be stifled,
ready to stain my paper
with their boxed-in screams.
(for emotion is best expressed in ink.)
and the knots in my stomach
reminded me to breathe deeply,
for nerves would only encourage
the disobedience of my creation.