I write because
I can.
After all, why not love what you can do
because you can do it
while you can do it?
Why should I wait?
I write because
my thoughts can’t be contained in only my head,
they beg to stretch their legs
and run around the hilly,
wild world.
I write because nothing I can do
will ever contain those thoughts;
they skip laps around my life
and cartwheel around
my soul.
I write because
though the letters are yours
and the words are yours,
they speak for me.
I write because
it is a way of untangling my thoughts,
my thoughts that are like a slippery, knotted string--
they will come loose with a tug
on the end of the line,
but it has to be a powerful tug,
a magnetic force of inspiration.
I write because
it is a way to live
without leaving the house and
a way to let love loose
while it grows.
I don’t write.
Writing writes me.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
I write because
I can.
After all, why not love what you can do
because you can do it
while you can do it?
Why should I wait?
I write because
my thoughts can’t be contained in only my head,
they beg to stretch their legs
and run around the hilly,
wild world.
I write because nothing I can do
will ever contain those thoughts;
they skip laps around my life
and cartwheel around
my soul.
I write because
though the letters are yours
and the words are yours,
they speak for me.
I write because
it is a way of untangling my thoughts,
my thoughts that are like a slippery, knotted string--
they will come loose with a tug
on the end of the line,
but it has to be a powerful tug,
a magnetic force of inspiration.
I write because
it is a way to live
without leaving the house and
a way to let love loose
while it grows.
I don’t write.
Writing writes me.
Request permission to use this poem