For the Love of...WRITING!!!

Day after day I question my sanity. "Why do I write?" "What is my reason?" And day after day the answers are the same. "Because you are a voice in this world." "Because it's in your blood." "Because you need to make a difference." "Because you love it." At 21 years old, I am pretty certain about my love for things and my distaste for others. Writing. Writing. Writing. I never considered myself a writer. Only a person with thoughts, ideas, words and feelings. Never a writer. Only someone with an imagination. But never a writer. I sat and had a discussion one day on why people write. What is their purpose. What drives them to want to tell a story. And alot of the answers kept coming back to money. But I had to take a minute and ask myself if it was about money. If I sat in front of this computer everyday for hours at a time for money. If I dealt with cramping hands, an aching back and every other ailment stemming from this computer chair for money. NO! And I knew it was the truth because for years I've been dealing with the same ailments, from this chair of course, and never thought about publishing anything.
Either way, the conversation eventually led to an article titled: The Purpose of Writing. It explored the writers before my time, and possibly before yours. Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, Nikki Giovanni and more. But it mainly focused on why they wrote and what the message was for them. I posted this article on Romance Central in the summer of 2004. I never received one reply. And my faith started to lapse. My muse decided to go south of the border and my patience ran thin. I basically gave up. Out of the blue I get an email. The subject titled: You article on Romance Central. I'm thinking someone is telling me that after so long and no replies that it was being removed. But I was wrong. And this is what the letter said...

I just read your article on the purpose of writing. I wanted to tell you how much it touched me, and I trust that you are well on your way to realizing your dream.
The last paragraph brought a snatch of music to my head. I just read Maya Angelou's "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings" and I think that you are absolutely right about the uplifting message she's sending. Throughout the memoir, I became more and more awed by her ability to move forward with things, instead of surrendering to what many would have guess her fate to be. If that's your goal in writing, I salute you.
The pain, the indiginity, I really think thats a big part of writing those powerful pieces. In short, I think you acheived your goal. You stated your mission and reached over to a small housing project in Kentucky. The real reason I quit writing is because I felt I had nothing to say. You really made me realize that if others can endure slaver, oppression, prejudice, and assault, surely I can escape a simple trap of my own design.
Thank you.

Now, as you can imagine, I was truly surprised by this. I posted that article more for myself than anything. And to have touched someone I've never spoken to or even heard of touched me. My muse came back, slowly but surely and my faith in myself became a little higher. I held my head a little higher. In short, me touching her touched me. For the love of...Writing

Feminism

Feminism. The movement, the growth, the empowerment of women. Women are often defined by physical characteristics. Only on a small scale and by a small amount are women defined by other graces. Such as...knowledge. The ability to raise a family alone. The ability to carry the burdens of an army and still continue her crusade. Still continue to rise above the derogatory and demeaning ways of the world and walk with her head held high. In a sense a woman is poetry. Usually on the outside being worded and reworded into what society think she may be or should be. But never who she really is.

I am poetry...lyrically inclined...lyrically free...to touch the inner spirit...express the inner me
Fluidly flowing through the veins of my listeners and my watchers...I am poetry as my eyes rhyme with my nose and my nose with my mouth...intricately creating the stanza known as my face...I am poetry as my mind enlightens yours...broadens your horizons...changes opinions...I am poetry as you get lost in my metaphors and similes and my words for beautiful haiku...and the poetically illiterate bashfully says "bless you"... unaware of the strength of my voice...the power of my knowledge...I am poetry...redefined on a daily basis to fit the needs of your mouth...to fit your stereotypical definition of...poetry...from the opening line that holds your attention...to the last word that allows that sigh of relief...I am me...I am woman...I am poetry