To control the way I interact with the world
In endless lines
of questions, riddles, and lies.
To champion love with the might of
A pencil that speaks of a time only
Imagined in an artist’s mind?
To tickle the unknowable.
To question the unattainable.
To rewrite the impossible.
I write to battle evil in its many forms,
Whenever it rears its ugly head.
I’m quick to the fight in an armor of hyperboles,
Idioms, and limericks.
I call to my side allusions from far away places, far away thoughts.
I write to scream the injustices of the voiceless,
For everyone should have a constant outlet of
Creativity.
To travel through the pages of a book to dispute
The junction of a dizzy mind and true intent.
I impart with the chaos of existence,
Letting him know the secrets I write in a journal
Not of this world or lifetime.
Why do I write?
It just feels so damn good.