And so, I became a writer

I became a writer out of fear.

Fear of being misunderstood and fear of misunderstanding others.

I became a writer out of desire.

Desire to conquer my silence and to give voice to those who had none.

I became a writer out of pain and sorrow.

Desperate to put words to the shards in my belly, so I could finally understand. Wilful cry for an embrace I have yet to find.

I became a writer out of rebellion.

To shred the pretty boxes and labels. Daring to Create and taste the sky; to touch the ocean and smolder my fire.

I became a writer for truth.

To demystify a tangle of lies and misgivings.

I became a writer out of loneliness.

My pages bearing witness to what others would not hear or see.

I became a writer out of friendship.

Because I heard your whimpers and whispered back.

I became a writer out of safety.

When I stuttered and hid my face, you did not try to understand. So I had to find another way.

I became a writer for hope.

A heartbeat searching stars for reply.

I became a writer to see.

Because I saw you that day, one fragment in eternity.

I became a writer out of love.

Because I hold your story for you and remember what you cannot. When you forget your truth, I will cradle the jewel of you to your palm.

I became a writer out of protection.

Because I saw the onslaught and joined you in the fray. I built a shield for us, plus a weapon or two.

I became a writer out of need.

Because I was starving and a desert surrounded me. What a great chef they said as I tumbled.

I became a writer without conditions.

Because I didn’t know what I was doing. I was simply compelled to alchemy.

I became a writer for wisdom.

Because I wanted perfect words for any need. Even if only to nurse my wounds with no one else here.

And I stand here alone, in my mother’s room, gazing over her last traces.

Grasping at straws, choking for air, keening for a hand I cannot have, floundering for the words to text a friend.

Will anyone hear, or will I fall. The black hole beckons.

Water in my lungs, a desert in my hands, I am simply.

Without words that can help