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
state.

I write because there is a power hidden
deep within,
I write because I am a soul 
that needs to shout
to a world that does not 
cease to listen.