Reason Why I Write

She asked me what I like to write

I told her whatever

It’s whatever I bear in my soul that day

It’s whatever I just so happen to say

It’s whatever I feel deep in my heart

It’s whatever I’m feeling, good, bad, sweet or tart

She asked me why I write

I said because I can

I can do anything with these intellectual hands

I could draw a portrait, or I could write a poem

I could even do a combination of the two forms

I could write a story about personal glory

Or I could write a play about someone else’s story

She asked me when I will write

I told her right now

God gave me a gift, I intend on not letting him down

I intend to use it with or without him around

I intend to use it without reason, need, or hopeless frown

I thank him for this gift each and every day

And that is why, Mrs. Washington, I freely write this way