August 3, 2013

Dear Angelynn,

I recently stumbled upon something that questioned why we write. And so I thought and I wondered, because I could be doing much more productive things to get me ahead in life but nothing is so enchanting or as beautiful and alluring as writing is. And it's not really a waste of time, it's almost like procrastinating in a productive sort of manner.

But still, why do I write?

And eventually with all my thinking and wondering and tearing apart this simple question in such a philosophical way, I came up with this poem (the question said to write it in a poem) that loosely describes how I feel. At the same time, it doesn't do writing justice.

But it really looked beautiful written down on paper, Angelynn. There's just something about handwritten things that make me happy.

Why I write:

I write to find myself

and sometimes the words aren't perfect.

Sometimes, somewhere between my thoughts and the written word the letters tangle together and

slam on the paper losing all previously envisioned vigor

and sometimes they don't say what I mean

or they sound

awkward and

uncomfortable

ready for the world to tear them apart, to chew them up, and laugh and critique and judge at my apparent lack of talent

and it just sounds so awfully

vulnerable

maybe because they sound worthless or pointless

but maybe because my writing is me

because sometimes my speech jumbles up

and sometimes I don't mean what I say

and I'm awkward and

uncomfortable and

vulnerable

to everyone's judgement and can be pulled apart by the world

yet, still I exist

and still, I write.

xx

Angela