They Dare Ask Why I Write


I write for the moment, 

I write for the pain.

Everytime I've been bullied, harassed, and full of disdain.

I write for my teacher who told me to pick up a pen, because of her I write for the children,

the women, 

the men.


I write for the shed tears and everytime bullies generated fear.

I write for the physical and verbal abuse.

I write for this little girl who is constantly accused.


I write for those who are running away from fear,


and war.

She told me not to only write for the rich, but also the poor.


I write because this world is full of adversity,

When the world isn't accepting of diversity.

I write because I am a minority,

because the world has tried to time us as if they have an implied authority.

I write for everytime I've been knocked to my knees,

left to pick up what was left of my dignity.


I write because I shut down.

When physically, I can't utter a word,

Emotionally, I feel absurd,

but mentally, I let my pen carve my feelings onto paper

just like they're engraved in my thoughts and echoed in my behavior.


I write for the lessons learned,

for all of life's wrong turns,


and burns.

I write for those who don't feel worthy of affection, but contrary to life,

with my pen I can make corrections.

I  write for every time I've cried myself to bed,

for those who cry in the shower so others don't realize what we're thinking in our head.


Then they dare ask me: 

"Why do you write?"

They don't understand, that's my way to put up a fight. 

Writing is what sets me free like a kite in the sky.

It gets me away from this world,


And they still ask  "why?"


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