Asking why I write is like asking why i breathe.
I could start out to say it is simple neccesity.
One needs air to function correctly
I need writing to gather collectivly
My thoughts which often run amock
Because my head is completely filled up
With useless worries and insecurities
With constant doubts and horrific unease
On paper they seem to come alive
And for that instant they catch me by surprise
but as each emotion pleads their case
The judge starts picking apart their base
The emotions grow desperate and cling to the evidence
But to the judge their cries leave no resonance
And the judge (which is I) makes the final call
She decides which are free if any at all
On paper in ink they have no power
They now cannot worry me in their final hour
They are sentenced to irrelevence
A most horrible existance
Where they slowly fade into indefference.
I write to maintain my confidence.