I write at home, on the bus, at school, on the computer, in a notebook.
I write when I get up in the morning, when I get home from school, and before I go to bed.
I write about the things that go on in my life and the people within it.
I write about everything from spa days at Spa a la Deck, my family’s home spa day, to days spent in my bedroom feeling loneliness and self-loathing struck my heart like drumsticks.
I write to escape into a world sometimes better than the one I myself inhabit and I write to come to terms with that very world and the things that go on inside of it that I can barely understand.
I write so I don’t cut.
I write to feel things that I am too scared to let myself feel in any other way.
I write to capture the little moments that are in danger of slipping away.
I write to speak of emotions and events I dare not let myself speak aloud.
I write because it fills a hole I cannot fill any other way; I write out of a basic need, the same type of need that forces me to breathe.
I write because it’s something to do on a boring day.
I write to play in a way I have not played since I was a child.
I write to heal hurts only my subconscious knows- the sting of the taunts jeered at me that I thought had long since dissipated, the words that I should have said and the things that I should have done when I was stuck in paralysis, the things wished for long ago that never came true…
I write to speak out against people and problems and actions that consume me with a roaring rage.
I write for those who don’t have a voice and those who do.
I write for a better world, the world as it is inside my head. A world where no kid fears walking down the streets of their neighborhood or the halls of their school. A world where no person starves while other people throw food away. A world where no one is killed because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time or didn’t listen to the right people or were of the wrong race/gender/ religion/sexuality.
I write out of a passion for words.
I write for me and all of the things that bring me joy.
I write for parents who have done nothing but encourage me and I write because I have seen the children of parents who only bring them down.
I write to learn about countries I have never visited, experiences I have never had, and things that I have not heard of.
I write to allow the creative, idealistic side of me emerge in an otherwise pragmatic person.
I write because through writing I am free from the things that only weigh me down.
I write because I am hopeful for a better day. I write in the dark, in the light and everywhere else in between.
I write to see the good in myself and in others.
I write to tear down and to lift up myself, others and the world.
I write out of love and hate, pleasure and pain, fear and courage.
I write to let myself dream and to let myself follow those dreams.
I write to climb out of holes I can’t seem to dig myself out of.
I write for things bigger than myself.
I write on the days when I have no words to say and I write on days when words are not enough and I write on days when I cannot stop the words from flowing out of me.
I write because if I fear if I don’t stop the rushing of words, the words might dry up.
I write every day as if it is my first and I write every day as if it is going to be my last.