I have written well and wretchedly,
in crayon and ink,
with bombast and aplomb
and fear underneath.

I have written on the tops of toilet seats
from the depths of despair
and in glass-walled buildings
while my soul was asleep.

I have written for praise
and for dolls
and for cash
and for naught.

I have written for the stage
and The Man
and the screen
and the hell of it.

I wrote
because it is what I was taught
and how I was wired
and why I might be here.

But I write
because it is the only way
I know how to sing.

xxx
c