Why do I write?
Is it because the words
stop at the tip of my tongue?
Is it because when I try to speak,
nothing but a croak emerges?
I write because it gives me a voice
through pen and paper
I write because no one would listen
to the words coming out my mouth,
but to the curvy letters on past-trees.
Paper does not show the trembling in my voice
or the fear in my throat.
Paper shows only the quality of the words
I write because there is a power hidden
I write because I am a soul
that needs to shout
to a world that does not
cease to listen.