Why I Write

I write for escape. Escape of my own reality. Who I am. Where I’m at. Who I’m with.  How I got here.

Today I am a bride. Tomorrow I’ll be a son- or perhaps I’ll be drunk, or dead, or madly in love.  Perhaps I’ll be all of these and more.

I have no limit. I have no one-sense of self. The flesh I am in does not matter for it is not who I am. I am the lives that spout out of my fingertips from the roots in my mind. I am the road less travelled. The moon. I am a creature, a myth… I am you. I am the old man down the street. The mother and the brother- the wind and sea.

I live the lives I was not given. I put myself in shoes that don’t belong to me; and I walk miles in them. I learn lessons from the experiences I haven’t been through and I give insight to that which I’ve never seen. I have loved people I’ve never met, and lost people I love. I have created lives, saved some, taken others.

My words take me on an all-inclusive holidays at no cost. I feel the sun on my black skin though I am white. I’ve had my first kiss 23 times with 20 different men and women. I have 10 different native tongues and I can fly.

I am the girl you wish you could be, and the man you never were. I am everywhere. I am everything. I am everyone.
I write so that no one will never know who I am. Who I truly am. Perhaps this is why I am so unsure of it myself. Perhaps there is no one-self to be sure of. Perhaps I’ve become so entangled in these words I will never be who or what I once was again.

Through my writing I give little pieces of other people to other people, and I take some for myself… My selves.

I write for them. I write for our freedom.