WHY I WRITE (SCHOLARSHIP SLAM)
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From the moment my lungs
took notice of the smog-filled air
I heard my older sister saying, “Words have power.”
I wanted to believe.
That, when I mixed a piece of
My eyes are closed
And so many thoughts
Dreams
Worries
Are swirling sporadically
And sometimes stressfully
Around my energizer bunny of a mind
But with a sharpened pencil
When I first give someone a poem I’ve written,
after telling them to dissect it with nit-pick nails
and hard-rimmed stares, I do not ask them,
“So what do you think?”
I ask them, “So what do you taste?”
I write because my mind is a blur of words and sounds and profanities that I can not put into the world through anything else but paper.
Ink smeared around my mouth and dried on my lip
Shreds of books everywhere as I continued to rip
Words of Frost, Whitman, and Emerson,
Every life in it's own way
Is a state of mortal fight
Every person is a nation
All warring in the night.
The battlefield is waiting
The lie that I believe
For me to step out in the wreckage
I write because I feel like I’ll vomit if I don’t
All those nasty and pretty and perverted things
I need to see them written out
For no other reason than to give myself a little
Peace of mind