Why do I Write?

Many people want to know why I write. I can never give them the right answer. Because, I think I don't write for a specific reason, I write about everything that happens in life, small, big, everyday.

Why do I write?
I don't know if anyone can answer this question.
Either can I.
I write from life stories, not from imagination.
I never had to read stories, poetry, or novels
To achieve knowledge for writing.
The stories existed in my house, in my neighborhood.

I never have to go to the beach to write
My heart is always open to writing
I didn't even buy an expensive pen;
There was also the courage to scratch with nails.
Why should I write?
There are no such rules or obligations to write
Even if I don't write, no one will kill me,
But still, I write, why?
Because I write as the mind wants
What is this mind?
Where does it live? I don't know.
There is no scientific evidence for this,
Yet the mind says write, I do
I write about all worldly diseases
I write about all the unpublished anger, pride, sadness
I write to protest
I write to protect myself, and the environment
I write with hunger.
Writing quenches my hunger.

I collect writing materials from a leaf lying on the street,
I received the message of actual eternal death,
From the fallen leaves of the autumn.

In my kitchen, I find the source of writing.
I find it from the sky, watching the afternoon flames.
Sitting next to homeless people along the way,
I found the main content of writing
When the girl's vagina burst,
I got the courage to write from the bloody scene.
I also learn to play with the weaving of words
By watching the monopoly game of society-state.
I write about an everyday event,
Feeling from the life picture
So, I can't say precisely why I write.

Reviews

[Robert Haigh]

People write for many different reasons, but most of them write because they feel they have to. Writing is in their blood. I write from both personal experience and from pure imagination, but I write simply because I feel I have to. Even if nobody ever read my work I would still write.

[S.zaynab.kamoonpury]

Wow it's nice that you write for society, be the voice of the voiceless write against social ills, that's a good purpose and your poem too is wonderful to that effect. Kudos.

Plz do read and comment my newest poem too, right on top of my page.

[HB Rita]

Thank you everyone for your nice and kind comments!

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

Congratulations in a place in competition ☺️

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

Hi thanks for this entry into my competition
‘Why I write ✍️ ‘
Good luck
I enjoyed reading all your reasons !

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Writing happens because it does, and we write because that is what we do.
I think the muse chooses us rather than the other way around.
It is in our blood, and yes, that question isn't easy to answer.
I really like this piece,
j.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Lovely poem and it speaks to the heart of all storytellers. It's like asking why do we breath? Or see? Or touch? Or taste? Ect. This existential question is as amorphous as, why do we love? My first experience with story telling was my grandmother. She had about an 8th grade education but could weave some of the most detailed philosophical stories ever heard. I could sit for hours listening and trying to decipher their meaning. They challenged me to think and understand the world I am a part of. They gave me voice. Then I learned to read and was enlightened even more. Comic books, my mom called them funny books, sparked my imagination. I began to see in them that dreaming the unusual and strange was not at all "weird " itself. It was just another voice that spoke to me about this remarkable outlet. I read king, Lovecraft, Howard, Homer, and others, that inspired me more. But one story in particular spoke to me in the most human of ways. The moving autobiographical tale of Night by Elie Wiesel. His words will forever haunt me, as well as inspire to be a better human being. So I write. I find a little place like here with like minded thinkers of art. Huddled by a campfire of our own and share poetry, stories, memories of those that came before me, who did the same. Let us sit, and share stories, laugh, cry, think, and love. Thank you for sharing your art.