Why We Write...

We write when we can’t tell anyone but the page

how we feel.

And when putting pen to paper feels like an act of

rebellion.

We write when that eddying river or those blood-red roses in the park

make our fingertips itch.

For those who need to hear poetry, instead of

the bombs falling overhead.

And those who want to use them in a bitter, angry

protest about dropping them.

For that person you love, whose eyes make your heart grow three times in size.

And the pain that you feel when it shrinks back and breaks.

Because the perceived pretentiousness of saying

“I write poetry.”, means a little more to you.

And because you want to create works of art,

for the ears as well as the eyes.

Because you have to tell that young boy that his voice can always be heard.

And because that young girl will hear his words and know she’s not alone.

For children, and soldiers, for loners and artists, extroverts, introverts, word-lovers and haters.

To inform and inspire, to create and devour. For ourselves,

and for everyone else.