The paper is like my mind, often blank and unclear
On this sheet I struggle to make sense of what I hear.
The pen holds all of my power
It contains the feelings I hold deep inside hour after hour.
The words should be easy to find, seeing as there are so many I know
But that's not the case, when my feelings are inexplicable.
Some may ask why I write
Do I answer? I may. I might.
I guess I do it to say what I can't out loud
To have someone read what I couldn't in front of the crowd
that is so quick to judge,
and even possibly hold a grudge
even though we live in a country that is thought to be free.
So to answer your question...
I write to be me.