Why I write

I write not to compare my poems with others, or to read aloud to impress

I write not to seduce or convince vulnerable girls that I am worthy to get them out of their dress
I write not to post poems to the cyber world to gain Facebook likes or receive notifications of approval

Neither do I write to escalade and establish myself as a unique and hipster individual

For my writing is much more selfish

it may seem a bit pompous and self-absorbed to those who ask

But to allow an audience to read into my inner most colloquy would be to commit infidelity

For if I cannot be faithful to thyself, how must I expect to behold the ability to be faithful?

So it is in times of being absolutely cloistered that allow me to pry into the oyster of my very being.

I sift and dig through the tainted inners that has shrouded my vision of who I am

In search for the unique and august pearl that is my soul.

It is amongst this quest that I call out as he answers in forms of debate, reminisce, and learning.

Knowing that through our distanced interactions, I am yearning

To meet that who I am.

This allows me to remove the cap in which my emotions and questions spew

That doesn’t derive from a bottle of booze.

I feel a quiver in my lips and feeling directly opposing ecstasy

Because I am onward in another direction entirely

Not to be beyond myself but to find myself.

And this is why I write.