Why I Write

I write.
I write just because.
I write for the hell of it.
I write for the smell of it.
I write for love and hate.
I write for war and peace.
I write for kale and bacon grease.
I write for grace and mercy.
I write to fight for rights.
I write freely to free everybody.
I write because corrupt cops can’t arrest words or my development.
I write because I don’t always feel like talking.
I write when blind justice peeks from behind her blindfold and plays favorites.
I write to get out of poverty while chastising the rich.
I write for my dirt-poor people living on dirt roads.
I write for those in dirty shacks with dirty intentions of getting away cleanly.
I write because I feel like saying something.
I write because I feel like saying nothing.
I write because it’s 4AM and I need to start making words.
I write and read because my ancestors were hung if they tried to read and write.
I write so my ancestors can speak through me to the unborn generations of us.
I write because I feel like hearing laughter and seeing smiles.
I write to piss off those who need to be pissed on.
I write for the brothers and sisters who ain’t make it, forever in our memories.
I write for the people.
I write for the knowledge.
I write for the ignorant.
I write for the silent.
I write for power.
I write because I’m bored of the world.
I write because I want to be godlike and create new worlds.
I write the rules only to break rules.
I write to deconstruct nonconstructive social constructs.
I write for my life because day jobs suck.
I write to meet my muse for drinks at that rooftop bar.
I write at night so my pen scribbles out an aurora borealis for all to see.
I write in traffic jams so at least the story in my mind moves forward.
I write to have an excuse to drink coffee, eat fried dough, and watch people.
I write because a lot of talkers call themselves writers.
I write for us even when they try to stop me.
I write because it’s too hot outside and nothing’s on TV.
I write to keep myself from strangling assholes.
I write when I feel nostalgic about future events.
I write because I feel like growing a beard this year.
I write in reaction to your reaction.
I write now to give my future self notes.
I write because I imagine a world where JFK, Lincoln, MLK, and Malcolm X shoot back.
I write I want to skydive so I can skywrite.
I write because I proofread graffiti.
I write outside the margins marginally to mar gens that don’t suit the agenda.
I write on the page to watch it come to life on the screen or stage.
I write because it’s 1AM and insomnia’s got me in a rear naked choke hold.
I write to focus my energies on synergies with my fellow creatives.
I write to meet the green fairy on absinthe-fueled evenings.
I write because I rather be down with the literati than the glitterati.
I write because the sky is blue and the grass is green.
I write to pay bills.
I write to display skills.
I write because there needs to be a record.
I write because I feel like it.
I write because I can’t imagine not.
I write to be.
I write.

February 16, 2016 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment