I write to show the intricacies of human life, to show the natural illogicality of humanity.

I write to influence. I write to understand. I write to influence. I write to understand.

I write to address. I write to acknowledge and to alert, to message, to report

I do not write to impress you,

I do not write to satisfy you,

I do not write to be judged by you,

I do not write for your or my own amusement, I do not write for fun.

I write to soothe the soul, I write to soothe my soul, I write with soul

I write to mediate, to initiate. I write to maneuver past, I write to speak to, I write to breathe. I write without fire but with knives I write with an aim but no final destination I write to live but have no resting place, I write so my resting place is eternal, I am the heartbeat of this page, the blood in these words, the muscle in this ink to make you move, I don’t write for her I don’t write for him I don’t write for this or that or that or they I don’t write for me.

I write to influence. I write to understand.

I write for these words. I write for this paper as my eternal audience. I write to caress this page, I write in black and white with the brush of a rainbow. I paint the canvas with a pallet of only black and white and can’t manage to make grey.

I write to write. I write just because. I write to influence, I write cause I can. I write because I am able to, I write to understand

I write exploiting the use of freedom of expression.

I write to no longer be constrained, restrained. I write like rafts on waves, like rifts or chords to be sustained, like Greco or Picasso, like Dali or Mozart or Tchaikovsky, Vivaldi.

I write like uh. I write like yeah. I write for the now and the then, for the here and the now.

I write for the Kwasi Wiredus and Steven Bikos, intentions like King’s boil in my soul.

I write to exist.

I write to be released from the mental shackles of everyday. I write to color outside the lines, to inherit the ways of the sky, inherit the nature, the ways of mother, and to elude those of father, because time doesn’t exist here, here is forever, here is forever. I write for everlasting truth.

I write for us...

I do it because I can make yellow sound like a 7 year old listening to a bellowing trumpet drowning beneath a beautifully crafted Tuscan architected bridge in the Bronx.

Because I can make blue be a gay couple and violet be a traditional family with two children, a young boy and a younger girl and have the two families have each other over for dinner.

I do this because I simply love talking to a blank screen, and maybe that makes me crazy…

But what would be crazier is If I didn’t write about it.

Because this, this keeps my mind soft, my mind malleable my tongue loose my words palatable. My spacing skin tight and my syntax breath taking like an oxygen vacuum, or a Verizon phone with no drop zone, a working woman with three kids and one more job and a father who’s never home but wants to be, a child with two parents she never sees and brotha whose really cool but doesn’t want to be for all the right reasons his friends can’t see, a migrant worker working for his family.

And Nelson,

To not forget his legacy.

I write for us. I write for us.

I write for us.