Barely there


I write because its comforting- I am a known child.
I write because it empties my dead head of old thoughts,
any thoughts. all thoughts.

I write to curb my confusions- even for a little while.

I write to pick me out from the amounting pieces and pieces of work that I am.
I write because I have read too many ideas from all too many books, magazines,
price tags and on toilet walls, that the urge to demand space for my own ‘dot of ink’ erupted earlier
than I had the good sense to hold back.

I write to read.
I write to experience the magic of thought turned into written word.
to read the words back to myself. to feel.

I write to release the loud voices inside my head. to clear the distorted on-going.
I write because I spend too much time on my own and I cannot always talk out loud in conversation to just myself.

I write to get noticed.

I write to spiritually connect with blue ink, empty white sheets and the Superficially motivated- i love you guys.
I write to expose a tone of voice which I otherwise do not posses, expressing sentiments I verbally cannot.

But best of all,

I write to be silent


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