Like a Bird

It only makes sense to start this all off with a question I’ve asked and been asked

Why do I write? Extensive bodies of letters, to some a vital but daunting task

There’s no way to word my passion for words, the only thing malleable and true

If writers cease to exist and no more creativity persists, what’d be the difference between me and you?

You see writing can be pictures and music and stories

And memories captured in vintage-filtered glories

And snapshots of your childhood, written long-handed

Or words that bring tears and speeches that are grand and

Things that seem small like advertisements or TV Shows

But all of these “things” engulf and influence our mind so

I suggest you start listening to me when I say this

Writing is everywhere and it’s something you can’t miss

Imagine being able to call yourself a creator

The leader of a world fashioned through pen and some paper

A world so rich, free of pain and frowns

Somewhere where you can literally turn them upside down

Flowers fluorescent green and grass ombres of blue

Or oceans filled with fairy-tale creatures no one can prove true

Writing is beautiful, for lack of a better phrase

Because the connotation of beauty is questionable these days

I don’t mean makeup, or the perfect body or designer clothes

Anyone can be beautiful in the realm of pencil and pen strokes

I’m not categorized by gender, or the ethnic bubbles so commonly found

I am who I am, through words that produce sound

And not just the sound that pulsate through your ears

But the sound you learn to listen for over the years

The sound of naivety and wisdom alike

The sound of an elusive concept we only hear in our minds

So ask me once more, why is it that I write?

Is it because I can will an injured bird to suddenly take flight?

Because I can allow him to do what is natural and free?

Where it can do its desires and forever be happy?

Now I’m sorry if I sound like an impractical optimist

But this is who I am, an impractical optimist

To be happy and make happy, writers and readers the same

To go from eccentrically wild to gracefully tame

To release my emotions in ways greater than me

To be like a bird, blissful and free