I found a few pages written in a workshop from before Xmas I posed the question ”Why do I Write?” as a free writing exercise I seem to remember Karen Little doing this and coming up with something much more poem like than mine but since this was on a few loose pages of coloured paper I thought I would type them up and post them. With the caveat that it was before Xmas in the dark time. Advice suggestions welcome, this is more of a disjointed rant as it is but I think as writers we should question our motives.
Why Do I Write?
I write because no one sees the terror in my eyes and the only way I make it known is by inhaling wine and falling or piles of paper raining ink stains. I write because I want men to fall in love with me. I write fantastical love poetry. It has cost me several men. I write because I am too honest. I write because I bore myself so fuck knows how other people feel when I talk. I write because poetry is the one thing I feel comes naturally. I have no mastery I will be an apprentice for life. But words unspool out so simply into free verse that I cannot stop them. I am known to grab a pen and notebook when I am near insensible with drink or lack of sleep and scrawl a whole poem out of my stupor. That is the freest time. I write because I am the only person stopping myself. I write because it feels raw. I write because I know my subconscious so well, I scream in my dreams with unspoken arguments.