I am Your Creative

A shot of adrenaline jolted me awake at 5 a.m. Flat on my back, face toward the ceiling, I became incredibly aware of my body. Electricity in my toes. Electricity in my ankles. Electricity in my knees. Electricity in my thighs, my hips, my belly, my breasts, my collarbone.
 Tingling in my lips.
 An urgency.
 A voice.

 "Jade. Why are you not doing this?"

 My chest tightened. 

 "Jesus, is that you?"

 I whispered aloud. 

 I waited. 

 "I am the great eruption in the night casting water glasses from the lips of nightstands; toppling over books, sending jewelry dishes shattering and scattering their remnants across the floor. I am the cry of the night wolf between the canyons of your vocal chords. I am an illuminated green coding in the nucleus of your motherboard. I am the ravenous, unforgiving tapeworm that digests your food to keep you starving for the bold sustenance I demand from this life. I am the one who ignites fires in the shadows between the ridges of your fingertips for light, energy and heat. I cast shadow animals beneath the beds of your fingernails when the night goes dark, use them as an awning when the rain comes unless I want to feel it on my face. And I do. I want to feel the rain on my face. Even if it is the reign of rejection. I am your creative. Lasso me in. Bind me up. Cut off my air supply. Try me. But I will kill you faster. I will make you come alive.
 The time is now.
 Get out of bed.
 Come awake."

  Panic. 

  I am running out of days to do what I love. 

  I am running out of days to do what I love. 

  I am running out of days to do what I love. 

  I am running out of days to do what I love. 

  I am running. 

  I am running.

  I am running. 

  Why? Why am I running from myself?

  I have tried to sabotage the writer in me. But she just keeps coming up for air. 

  Jesus, remove my worst enemy. Cast me out into the sea. 

  Oh God, the burden of what you have woven is aggravated. 

  It is too heavy.