Why do I write? That's hard to say,
yet still my words pour forth each day.
It brings me peace, there is no doubt,
yet I'm not sure what it's about.
I started at an early age,
my blank notebook, I filled each page.
With rhymes that from my heart would spill,
these fledgling poems, I have them still.
I'm not sure what compels me so,
but I must write, this much I know.
And I am grateful every time,
that I touch people with my rhyme.
My laughter, pain, my joy and tears,
my insecurities and fears,
released from my soul through my verse,
it lightens up my universe.
Why do I write? I guess it's true,
it makes me happy when I do!
What worth this gift? I cannot measure,
these words I share, they are my treasure.
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