WHY DO WRITERS WRITE
Why put yourself through full cream of scariness?
Of excitement, disappointment and panicky
compulsion?
Considering the context of time, shortness
of life and other things to do?
Why embark on a madden of all insane-driven
passion?
What crazy creative intrinsically gene is
the cause of such affliction?
Why face a scary blank page, trepidation,
ubiquitous shadow of failure, hell, pure hell?
For me, I write to dream; yes, that is it;
To connect with the world beyond,
When I want how I want and where I want
To leave a mark, a voice, and permanency in
this world
So that when after that I have gone to the hereafter
My joy would remain the pleasure of building
blocks of word on another,
Firmly having fulfilled my burning desire
to let the rioting words inside of me out
To have the world in entity join me to
explore my thinking
I care less to prepare for failure and criticism
than I ought or care to deal with
Instead, ready to hit back with a rebound
and redouble my optimism
Which, I kid you not, is the legitimate
response to failure
For I know, no matter what, I only can
please some of my readers all the time,
So that the many others’ hearts could find
something to gnash about
To be ashamed of the original word
originating from profound thoughts
Stories created, deeply heartfelt, like
fossils on the ground;
Appropriately dressed to withstand and
weather the test of time
Wonderfully crafted imaginations aimed to find
their way to the reader's bowl
To toil with that; to be ashamed to let
that out indeed diminishes one, as a writer
So, all that said, roll your head and neck,
flex your fingers; click or put to paper;
Make you the transferring human medium of a
writer’s imaginative ruminations
Should you feel nervous, excited, hopeful, despairing,
or distressing doing all that?
You damn well better be, for that makes you
a writer worth the salt you ought.
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