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Rated: E · Poetry · Writing · #2308790
Someone once asked me why I write, well here's why.
"Why do you write?"
My friend once asked me this,
And at the time I could not answer them,
Because how could I explain it?

I could not explain it,
how there is a world in my head.
People and stories and ideas,
All begging to be told, to be heard.

They claw at me,
All wanting to be remembered by others,
To not fade away with time.
How could I explain?

I could not explain how,
In the dead of night when everything stills,
When the world itself seems dead.
That the voices in my head scream so loud.

There is magic in my mind.
It is both loving and cruel,
And it begs to be told and shared.
To not be forgotten and never remembered.

Is it possible to explain it?
How could I explain it?
There is a world in my head,
And it would be a waste if only I saw it.

I don't think I could ever truly explain,
But that is my reason.
This is why I write,
And why I will never stop.
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