Why I Write

I know of nothing more gratifying than the artistry of steering a pen when my throat hitches

My tongue fails my lips stumble over thoughts, but then 

Here sprawls that gleeful dominance I used to feel 
Immersed inside all those overdue paperbacks, 
Performing tragedies to my bathroom walls in cargo slacks thereafter - 

Only now this proves as a more effective way of talking to myself. 

As regretfully delicate as I tend to be in this world 
I've the privilege to bathe in the narcissism of my written words 
As if I am the force of gods instead of the embodiment of a bumbling fool,
And now because of this I will continue to rejoice in the company of those

Phenomenons like myself with their own faithful notebooks 
And writing tools.


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