Why do I write poems? Is it for expression? Is it for attention? For a girl?

Do I write out of a sense of obligation? Boredom? Pain?

Is there some ulterior motive? Something sinister and obscure?

Or is it that I just want to be accepted?

The reason why is always changing.

Do we watch **** because we are vile and perverted? Or maybe we just want to feel good? Feel something. Anything.

The reason why is not important. It is inconsequential. Trite.

Reasoning defies action, and action defines your character.

So who are you? Are you my reason, reader? Are you the reason that defies my action? Are you the reason I have no character? The reason I fear?

Or maybe,


The reason I’m here?