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
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