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Poetry - Why do I write?

He was asked why does he write?

Trees, sunshine and beauty.

Is what he would and should of said, but was not,

Why do you write?

‘To get laid’ he says…

A chuckle from the audience, again, and once more.

Why do you write?

‘To get laid’

He shifts with an awkward fashion,

Voice filled with more passion,

A chuckle from the audience, again and once more,

Why do you write?

‘To get laid’.

He is now confident.

Standing as a tower his words giving him more and more power.

‘To get laid’.

We laugh once, twice, quivering towards the third,

But he will be heard…

‘To get laid’.

He expands upon his meaning,

Beginning to give me an uncomfortable feeling,

The rare moment where a fellow creature describes a feature with which you relate,

Truly and entirely relate,

With anticipation I wait for his point to unfold from its comic origins,

And my heart spins as he speaks,

He explains…

And he tells us of how he froze,

Using inadequate prose to express his feeling

His meaning becoming lost,

Clutching at conversation at all cost.

‘Why do you write?’

‘To get laid’ he replies.

The comic origins have faded away,

In my seat I stay,

And as he unfroze he explodes into a series of elegant prose

With the beauty of his words he is heard.

Using time and planning you can begin to imagine,

Why the language he chose,

As his heart slows,


He speaks of society,

And his social anxiety,

Of living in a nation where conversation is effort.

Where meeting friends on social media is an allusion,

Instead it lends itself to exclusion.

He explains his struggle

As he tries to accumulate and communicate his feelings and their meanings,

Towards her.

This woman that he loves.

That is why he writes, like a beacon his words give him freedom,

And he’s bolder,

He’s stronger,

His rhymes lasting longer

And he tells her.

And she knows.

And that is why he writes.

Why do I write they asked,

I write because the sun shines for me,

I write because the hills around my mums apartment are sloping and free,

I write because the rain soaks my head and entangles  every hair until I have a ginger afro,


No I don’t.

These are the things that I would and should say… but I won’t…

I write because I feel.

I write because, quote, ‘one step forward and two steps back is not a negative it’s a dance move’.

I write because otherwise I can’t tell you

I write because I need to

See like him…. my abilities of expression are thin,

So to express my understanding it involves forward planning

Which after a while seems to be developing into a form of ranting…

But through it I think I can make you see, what I see and, me.

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