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Poem

 
Why I Write


He asks why I write

And I say I must

Because the words, you see

Flow as easy as blood in my veins 

The pen as natural as the air I breathe

Without it, I explain

The maze of my mind couldn't handle it 



He asks how I write

And I say that my method cannot be taught

For my words are etched into me, stuck to my skin

My story swept back like my hair, ready to come loose

If I taught him my way

It just wouldn't be the same



He asks where I write

And I say that it can be anywhere

Hidden in my mind waiting for a chance to be free

In the comfort of my bed, or the cold of a desk

Anywhere, I explain

I can write, as long as it comes ultimately from the heart



He asks who I write about

And I pause

My heart races faster than my thoughts have ever dared

My eyes soften like they've never been hurt before

I question his questions

As if it could be anyone but him?

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