This is Why I Write

I’ve wondered myself, if I know what you’re thinking
And I wondered it today, so I’ll try to give an answer
To the question that you’ve asked me to ask myself

Last year I thought my life was going fine
Until I found myself and got to know who I am
And ever since, my own words have proven
To be my own best friend
Because they show me who I am
And now, my friend, you know
That this is why I write

But now I wonder if there might be more
To exactly who I am, there’s more, I know
And there’s more to each and every one of us, too

Where did I come from, where am I going?
Who are you, and what good am I?
Where are the words I’ve kept to myself
In all the conversations I’ve seemingly drowned out?

I’ve hoped to find them here
Where my fingers can speak freer than my mouth
And my heart can breathe out



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