Why do I write?
Is it so I can fight
For what I feel’s right
And get labeled as a mud-thrower
Without getting shot
Like another whistle-blower?
Is it for the fame
So I can be greedy and dry
As the world became
What I once wrote to defy?
Why do I write?

I write because I like
To see the words of my mind
Create rhymes that defy
The laws of normality
To which we all abide.
I write because some days
My heart aches
From past heartbreaks,
And I can feel it swell then repel
Pumping life into my veins.
And ‘cause when I write,
The rope on my pencil
Temporarily lifts away
The anvil that’s been giving me back pains.

Why do I write?
I write
Because graphite makes me fly.
I write
Because the dark subsides
For a while,
And I feel alive
And less vile.
A vial of my soul
In each poem I write
Rhymes tying together like
A spider making a web in a rainstorm:
Intricately put and struck through a brainstorm.
Tougher than steel in it’s graceful form,
Allowing the alloy to illuminate
The far reaches of the imagination.

Why do I write?
I write because it’s pleasurable
To author and reader.
Sending people here and there.
From swinging sap trees in the spring,
To the glorious murder of a heretic king.
From the smell of macadamia nuts,
To the smell of blood and sight of guts.

Why do I write?
I write because the power
Passed through pencil
Is infinitely intoxicating
To masses and individuals.
The fine line between pen and penicillin
Popping prescription pills
of poetry
Illusions of allusion like
Harry Houdini
Electrifying neurons like
Nikola Tesla

Why do I write?
Cause sometimes life
Treats me just right
And as I textually fly
High as a kite
My pencil anchors me
As to not lose me to the sky
Giving me my bona fide
Ability to write
As happy or dark
As I might to like to
Stride to achieve
Words flowing with simplicity
Using my vocabulary
To create linguistic variety

Why do I write?
Put simply
It pleases me
I can’t help humanity
No matter what I spit
Or write along with it
No matter metaphor I use
Or how much rhyming I abuse
Resuscitation of our nation
And the world we live in
Counts on all of us
It doesn’t come from one
It comes from us all; within

But back on track
I write because
No matter what pushes us back
I always find comfort in my
Written reveries of melancholy
And though no one hears
When everyone is listening
I will scream my lament
Until the lead bleeds coarsely
And when I am happy
My words will ascend
To tranquility