Why I write seems such a complex question to pose,
With so many shimmering answers to reply with that shout for attention,
In my soul.

I write to release myself from the world of reality,
And softly sink into my own world,
Of floating dreams that sometimes become wrapped in thorns.

I write to release the pain of demons whispers and mockery of me,
To let my soul cry in peace under the starry moon,
And her shimmering stars that seem to understand me,
And my writing.

I write to keep the demons venom away,
To push their laughter out of my mind,
And keep my dreams alive and filled with ambition.

I write in hopes other souls may hear my melody,
To hear my souls words rather than societies,
To see and feel the dreams and pains,
To see we are all human,
And with simple words we are all connected by our lives.

I write to let people into my world,
For them to see what I see,
To feel what I feel,
To understand who I am,
And why.

I write to forever maintain my memories painted in my reality,
And let my emotions forever paint them in velvet shades,
Rather than monochrome facts,
Of Black and white against dull grey.

I write to remind myself that my world still exists and that with just a mere pen,
I cause the world to shift and bear my hopes and dreams.

I write to stay human,
To remember who I am,
To remain myself,
And only myself.