Why I Write

Where do I begin? With a pen in my hand and a blank page. Well, I open the flood gates, let my thoughts and ideas consume me. Let them swell up and burst upon that page. I write to release the bile, accumulating inside, wanting to grow legs and scatter upon that page. I write to free a part of me, that has been locked up, raveled in chains, wanting to break out and seep upon that page. I write, because writing chose me, and it won’t loosen its grip, until I put pen to page.