The paper is like my mind, often blank and unclear

On this sheet I struggle to make sense of what I hear.

The pen holds all of my power

It contains the feelings I hold deep inside hour after hour.

The words should be easy to find, seeing as there are so many I know

But that's not the case, when my feelings are inexplicable.

Some may ask why I write

Do I answer? I may. I might.

I guess I do it to say what I can't out loud

To have someone read what I couldn't in front of the crowd

that is so quick to judge,

and even possibly hold a grudge

even though we live in a country that is thought to be free.

So to answer your question...

I write to be me.