the purpose of writing.

i write.

i do it
to feel bold.
i do it, perhaps,
as a means
of self-validation.

i do it to pretend,
in my simple mind,
that i have power.
words have power.
i simply borrow it.

i write to feel
these words on these lips.
it feels nice
when syllables
drop from this mouth.

i speak
because i think
i have something to say.
i enshroud myself
in delusion.

i speak
because words are keys.
each one unlocks
a heartstring,
changing them back from stone.

i speak, and i write,
because my heart is stone.
because they are essential
in finally feeling

i do these things
despite having
of any importance
to say.

i do them
because i wish
that i did.