Not many days before yesterday, I showed my teacherand my friends some stories not much different from this one. They said,"You must like to write a lot," but I said no ... that's not it.

I avoid writing like a wolf avoids a man, not knowing the man could behis best friend. I write because it's my way out of the darkness. I write toexpress myself and for people to understand. I write because it is my bail out ofjail and a promise the judge will listen. It is the key out of this birdcage tothe beautiful world beyond. I say things in my writing I would not dare say outloud. And my disruptions show better how I feel and people find their way throughthe maze of my mind and understand where it takes them. I am the kind of personwho needs someone to talk to. And sometimes the page is the only one who willlisten. And maybe someone way out there in the endless sea of people feels thesame way and maybe, just maybe, I can clear their cloudy day.

When Idon't write, my frustrations and feelings bubble up inside me like a clogged teakettle that cannot whistle, ready to explode. I am a trapped bee behind a windowto the field of flowers beyond. When I don't write, the window is closed and Isee no way of getting to the flowers as my energy slowly drains. My writing isthe tool to open the tea kettle. Open the window. Open my mind. I don't writebecause I like to put worlds on a piece of paper; I write because it is the ropeout of this hole of darkness.