Because I've Been Asked This Too Many Times

I write because I can. I write because I am sheltered person, who like the rest of my tribe has an opinion about all things under the sun. I write because I find pleasure in thinking ill of the world and its people. I do no write for you, or my parents or the handful of people who’ve loved me and hated me. The world has too many books and too few trees. I write for deadlines and longing. I write because my pen demands me to. I do not write out of frivolousness, I write with my sweat and my blood. I write as much out of jealousy and spite and ignorance as I write with love and hope and tears. I write for myself. And in doing so, I write things I want to read. I write things I don’t like, and then things I fall in love with. I get frustrated, kill a few people in my head and vow never to write again. I criticize, throw tantrums and rip off pages. And then I rewrite.