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
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