People ask me why I write
All the time
My answers have pretty much
Always been the same
It's something that I love
Or therapy
For all who read my writing
Not just for me
But I never tell
The flip side
The part where
It kills me
With every word,
I die
The torture I go through
Putting it all on paper
You see, I don't just write,
I get into character
And I cry, I bleed
I suffer
Even pain that's not my own,
I FEEL
Ten times over
Few times, I smile
But for me, it's hard to capture...
happy
It's bland, dry
Uninspiring
But give me anguish
And words pour out
Look at all the Psychiatrists
Taking their business cards out
Strange enough,
I feel like that's my purpose
I mean, how fucked up is that?
That shit's crazy right?
For some, I'm the one that's crazy
And maybe,
Maybe you are right in your assumptions
but if my words are like acupuncture
For a wounded soul
Then I have fulfilled my purpose
Have you?
Kavon McKenzie February 6 - Copyright 2012
