Why do I…

Someone once asked me why I write.

I wondered with careful curiosity.

Taking apart ink that had dripped into my veins.

I looked inside capillaries and saw the needle of words

sequestered deep into my being.

How do you answer a question

when you are not whole without it?

This mode of thought?

This transportation of feeling?

So to answer the question,

I write because

I am without

if I do not.

Without zest,

contentedness,

accountability,

and most of all

expression.

I write because without it,

my feelings balloon

into an ominous creature of doubt.

And there is nothing more fearful

than being in the unknown

a l o n e.