Why Do I Write

Out of all the questions I have been asked in life None of them stump me more like this: Why do I write? It does not stump me because it’s tricky It stumps me because it’s a stupid question to ask Why do I write? Because there’s nothing more relaxing than it. Sure sometimes it’s frustrating Difficult, fundamentally challenging But that’s part of the beauty of it Letting you emotions spill out across the page And knowing that people read it That people expect who you are It’s brilliant When you live a life of not speaking up Of being that quite person in the background Expressing yourself is… magnificent I’m not me when I write Something takes over me, controls me So much so that I don’t really know what I am writing consciously But it works so well I guess some people will never understand The joy in it all When you're my age and you develop some characteristic That doesn’t suit the normal criteria you get picked on It happens, you can’t stop it But I feel sorry for them Expressing yourself through writing is one of my greatest joys And I’m not going to stop Not now Not ever