Why I Write
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?
Copyright © Krishika Upadhyay | Year Posted 2025
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