You know, I’ve been writing poetry for quite some time.
I mean, it’s a fun medium and all, ok?
I don’t have to pay for shit, and I can do it anywhere.
At home, in the car, at the zoo.
Whatever the hell I want.
But it’s always interesting when people ask me,
What the fuck kind of question is that?
Are you just jealous because you can’t write or something?
Because really, anyone can write.
And it always has a purpose.
I write for the boy who sits behind a wall during lunch,
Waiting for the bullies to find him again.
Waiting for them to steal his small sack lunch.
Waiting, worrying, helpless.
Wondering if maybe, just for today, he can finish his sandwich.
I write for the girl.
Well, the biological girl.
Who’s afraid to tell her parents she’s really a boy.
Because she knows that her father will not hesitate
To paint her body with black and blue.
I write for the teens with a broken heart,
Because I want to tell them that they can get through.
That they can hold on, to the very end.
I know they’re strong,
And I want to hold their hand.
I write, because I have a voice.
My voice, can move mountains.
My words can CREATE new worlds.
My legacy can become what we live in.
Everything I do can change the world.
I write because I am.
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