words

what is it about writing?
what is it about sharing your view of the world,
your view of you?
some kind of self-righteous navel gazing
that rubs the ego?
is it?
who cares?
who reads?
i often wonder why i do
in fact, someone recently asked me why i do it
for a moment i hesitated to answer
because it's become such a part of who i am
what i do
everyday - fortunately enough
i do have a job that requires me to write
as my actual job description
so why do i do it?
where did it all start?
my love for the written word
has nothing to do with the fact that i write now
or maybe i should rather say
my love for reading gave birth to the me that writes
i simply cannot remember a time when i couldn't read
words move me in a way that nothing else can
they touch a part of my being in ways that i cannot even begin to describe
words fuel my imagination
far more than any picture can
words allow your mind to wonder
build up your fantasies
to worlds only you can access
(depending on how vast your vocabulary is, i suppose)
so why do i do this?
it pacifies the part of me that often finds itself yearning
for this things way beyond my grasp
it affords me the space to forget
to reflect
without feeling judged
because i can hide behind that writer badge
it fulfils my spirit
grows my soul
i could go on with the cliches
it allows me to be me