Why do I write?
Why does one sing?
Why does one dance?
Why does one fly into space?
Why does one stare death in the face?

For many it’s a calling,
a habitual trait,
for few like myself,
its a life raft,
a way to escape.

Poetry has kept my sanity afloat since my hands could hold books.
Shel Silverstein,
the only god in my life,
saved me before I could know of problems.
The way the words flowed down the page,
nothing in life ever seemed so sure and put together.

Music for me,
defined poetry.
the rhythm of the chords gave it purpose,
and created a soul within the body of words.

When all my friends were scoring goals,
mounting trophies,
acing tests,
always the best.
I rest.
with a pen in my hand and pain in my chest.

When the struggle of high school cliques and expectations,
Took command of our malleable souls,
Writing kept me ME,
ensured my identity.

That was the price I paid,
to distance myself from the selfish, unfriendly, and hormonal entities that I faced everyday,
in the halls of High school.
To keep my judgments of the world pure,
and my understanding of myself defined.

But despite my efforts,
my humanity longs for company,
for a new set of eyes to walk the page.
For poetry is born from isolation,
but once born,
it grows from companionship.

Poetry creates community from one individual,
who decided to put their deepest fears onto a page,
and allow it to be read by all.
Poetry takes courage,
poetry takes standing up for what one feels is right,
to release their demons,
and from this Poetry gives.
It gives hope,
inspiration,
understanding,
and revelations.
To leave that isolation is a fight,
but that my friend,
that is why I write.