Why I write

Words are a web of tangled imperfections Different in their composition and order Each a heartbeat in a symphony of chaos Yet when they intersect they become one All differences aside, they collide. Dreams are like words They too are irregular, unpredictable We can only live through our own Although we may cross others It is ours that we might strive to achieve. So I write to live the dream To live the dreams of others To one day understand why Imperfections create beauty. I write to live in the past To cherish the moments I should have To savour my innocence To criticize my melancholy thoughts To scream at myself and throw words Into mirrors, wondering if they shatter Into dozens of pieces like I once did. I write to forgive Myself and others for things Unspoken but often thought of To delve into my graveyard of buried hopes To find something that is barely living And make it thrive once again. I write to release emotions That people say shouldn’t be kept inside They could kill you one day, rumor has it I write to make something out of nothing To float on into the puzzling future I write to believe.