I Write Because…

I write because I have to
because people like you ought to hear my words,
because I am someone who wants to be heard.

I write because of the bees,
I write to save them from dying.
Like my fragile little ego, he crushed.

I have to write to save myself
from the heartache and the pain.
The reason I crave for misery is my pen.

I write to choose the path I want to lead.
To navigate the map laid out in front of me.
To be able to live life with just words.

I write because words are my strength
The armor and the sword. The weapons
of war that I need every single day I wake.

I write to express happiness.
The joy of a baby’s cry,
and the sorrow of a mother’s birth.

I write for tomorrow and yesterday.
The truth behind everything I do.
I write for the things I can taste.

I write for everything and nothing at all
Lewis calls a raven a writing desk,
And like the Hatter, I haven’t got the faintest idea why.

I know not why I write,
I know not why I must excrete
these venomous words on paper.

Do you ask people a living person why it breathes?
Do you ask a color why it has that hue?
Or do you ask your opponent for their strategy?

I write simply for myself, I guess.
I write simply because I am alive.
And I write because words are I have.

I was made to build stories.
It’s all I’ve ever known.
I write for anyone who reads, I guess.

I write for anyone who listens.
I write because people like you exist.
I write because people like you understand.

I write because of me, my life and all I’ve known.
I write because there are people somewhere,
WHO UNDERSTAND.

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5 thoughts on “I Write Because…

  1. ‘The reason I crave for misery is my pen’. I really enjoyed that line because I think it speaks so truly to the writer’s spirit. We’re built to take pain because we love to use it, share it, be inspired by it. But so many writers become addicted to self-destruction. It’s a shame that a happy life is a less written life. Hahah.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Well yours certainly isn’t anymore. Sure, you started from pain but I’m proud of how far you’ve gone from that. That line reminds of Edgar Allan Poe. It’s weird how pain makes us poets, yes.

      Liked by 1 person

        • Exactly!! Pain is passion. I found myself not wanting to write about that seafood restaurant experience because as soon as I got in my room and started writing, I could not think of anything else to say other than I’m happy. I see and hear painful stories wherever I go and that is inspiration. I don’t know… my words flow freely if I think about pain. Like when all you’ve ever known is grey and suddenly you have a rainbow you don’t know how to deal with.

          Liked by 1 person

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