Who do I write for?
I write for those who read,
I write for those who don’t read.
I write for my mother and father,
I write for the stranger.
But mostly, I write for me.
Why does that matter?

What do I write?
I write sadness and glee,
Terror and peace.
I write life.
Why does that matter?

When do I write?
When an idea worms its way inside.
When I have to.
When the time is right.
Why does that matter?

Where do I write?
I write on a desk,
I write on a bed.
But I make the words,
In my head.
Why should any of this matter?

What matters is that I write,
You write,
The world writes.

Why ask me,
When you can ask the world?