I write because…

I write because I know, one day, once again, like many times before, I will feel like tearing everything up. Burning down the diaries. Deleting everything there ever was.

But till then, I shall write.

I write because I am full to the brim with things to express. And by brim I mean a height of a hundred feet above my head.

I will catch those thoughts with a butterfly net, and write.

I write because sometimes, I get tired of selling smartphones, selling products, selling promises. I crave to be honest, transparent, open.

I write because I want to paint large canvases, sing out loud, bring down the house with an electric guitar.

But till the time I have only a fountain pen or a keyboard, I shall write.

I write because I know I can make small talk if I have to, but when I bump into people, it hardly is small talk.

I write because I happened to meet a beautiful lady at a concert, who told me she had read what I had written. She mentioned she hadn’t said anything, because she had related to it too much and too strongly. Because she had found expression in what I had written, for what she had only felt.

I write because I know how to live with vulnerability, with sensitivity. Because I have not let the hard times harden me, or the bad guys kill me.

I write because one day, as I was walking into a party, knowing the first thing I would do when I got the chance was to delete the status update I had foolishly posted, I was told by someone that I had inspired them.

And despite the heart that had perhaps opened up too much, I decided to let it be.

I write because I know that conflicting, contradictory emotions can exist together, all at once. The first time a poem of mine was published, and my mother happened to find it, her heart had swelled with pride, but her eyes were soaked in tears.

I write because I dream of a world where we don’t have to pretend that everything is alright, when it isn’t.

I write because I dream of a world where we don’t have to pretend that everything isn’t flowery, beautiful, rocking, when in fact it is.

I write because I know I’m not a writer, and I have no set standards to attain.

In a world that is quick to judge you for your looks, to note you for your dresses, to look at you for your legs or your hair, I write to assert my humanness.

I write to feel less alone.

I write because I don’t give a damn what people think.

Or at least try to.

I write in order to live.

I write because I must.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s