You Asked Me Why

I don't know why I write poetry. There's a sense of freedom that comes with it. A freedom that comes from within me. Stories are one thing, but with poetry I can feel it. Poetry's just something I'm good at, Something that feels natural. Like death is attracted to life, Poetry becomes me when I write. All my life I have been an outcast; Left in the dark and forgotten Like a stranger looking through glass. All this loneliness had turned me rotten. In this darkness I was haunted day and night. I had no voice to cry out in anguish Until I found poetry and started to write. The answer to an unspoken wish. Line after line I began to jot down Until no more words were left, But my spirit in ink to be found. Not a single secret I kept. It was soon after I related to Poe, Known for his darkness; Always told, but never to show Yes, of him I grew quite a fondness. More and more I wrote Memories, fantasies, and romance. New realms made with every stroke Finding life, poetry gave me a second chance. Poetry helps me see the world in a different way. Everywhere I walk, everywhere I turn A rhyme could be said about anything, Even the way the trees sway. You asked me why I write poetry. This is all I've got. It's the best way I can express myself. This is where the poem stops.