I hear you ask why I write. I spit lines in spite of what kinds of prejuduce passed in critisisms. Irreguardless of the content of the violence you bestow I always tend to show a brightened disposition. I write for the reasons listed. I write for the kids who wish for rain to come and be strong enough to fight off the predators of his own home. I write for the oppurtunistic will of someone who is on their last breath and only wishes for others happiness. I write for convienience, conviction, and from coincidence. I write when for the blatant miscontent that is drives the dissidence of our fateful citizens. I wirte when there is no hope because even when there is the abscents of hope, there is still a standard of it. Therefore it must be existential. I write for the wasted potential and the old ladies with dementia. I write for it all because it has simply become natural for me. It is what I live and breathe and not with broken knuckles or crippled hands will anyone take that away from me.