As I looked around me I knew I was safe
But then Mommy brought me to a different place.
With people my size and a lady like Mom
I began to assimilate into the mob.
They gave me a stick and stiff napkin
They asked me to spell out my name
I was a three-year-old girl, and there writing soon came .
Thirteen years later and they ask me why I decide to write
I answer bluntly, "why not?"
I look further to support my automatic response
To only realize that writing is my only shot.
A shot for change, a shot for a stance
A shot to express myself and to advance.
So I answer proudly and preach to all
To write with dignity, because why not?