Why I write…

Why I write…

To learn to write about myself
But not become a bore,
To learn to look into the heart of myself
But feel no shame for what I saw;
To create another’s biography
That’s honest and deep and aware,
But hide the preliminary autopsy,
The self-conscious autobiography,
And create another who’s self-unaware.

Strip back the layers of manners,
Pull down the Floydian wall,
Create a knowing self-consciousness
That’s not self-conscious at all.

To dive into the well of my mind
And wave and never drown,
To give to the world a piece of my mind
With a smile on my face and my feet on the ground;
To explore myself but not get lost
And create with the bounty I find,
To know myself and then use that knowing,
To create new worlds, new times;
To switch on a light in the long dark night of the soul that’s a vessel of growth,
To get lost in the underground caverns of mind, that are mine and lie hiding my truth;
To relax and be merry and allow all my dreams,
To be free in a guiltless mind,
To be happy and honest and decent and true
And to learn to use all that is mine.

In short, in truth, I continue to write
To grow and to learn how to be.
Sometimes it’s because I get worried,
And sometimes it’s because it’s just me.

So I guess it’s important to post this one at some point, it’s what I do after-all.

I don’t know what made me an addict of writing – I mean I’ve got a few theories – but this poem has a go at expressing what’s so addictive about it.

I don’t really “like” the first two lines, but I keep them because they’re the real first reason I got into writing – to learn to write about myself – though I’m slightly embarrassed about it now.

The truth is, I was fascinated by the experience of being. And not just being me –  though I was the only me I knew how to be, so it made sense to start there – but I was deeply attracted to just understanding of the sense of being and how that expressed itself through writing.