Talk. Text. Skype. Type. I write because it helps me remember and forget. I write hoping someone will listen and do something about it. Enliven or repress me. Slander or flatter me. Let me know that I got your attention. That my words aren’t stagnant and dormant, but enormous. That they moved you mawkishly and mellifluously from left to right. Tell me that what I’ve written is contrary to whatever the hell it is you’re thinking or tell me you just don’t care. At least I’ll know my words were read.

I write so you can chew on my thoughts and let your feelings digest the letters I fed you like alphabet soup. Spin my opinions then spit them back out in your own words.

I write because the current reality of this unreality is that freedom of speech in prison is prohibited and forbidden. However, writing enfranchises me. It grants me permission to trespass, as I disguise myself in pseudonyms and hide behind the paper lines. Or touch untouchable issues, and cross the lines with pride.

I write to satisfy an urge and craving that is never satisfied. Writing is the truest and purest voice I have these days. It’s intimate and personal. It’s as natural as the layer of tree skin I scribble these life sentences on. I write cause I can, and they can’t stop me from doing so. They can censor it, only to a certain extent. Their handcuffs don’t fit my pen. They can’t shackle these words or confine my thoughts. Shut me up, hush, shhhh… and silence me. Cause words written will scream, shout, yell, howl, laugh, cry, live, whisper, comfort, console, love, hate, and worship all on a single sheet of paper, stone, screen, or, glass. Words can do everything but die. You can’t kill what’s been written.

Why do I write. Because if I didn’t you wouldn’t know me. Besides, this pen lets me vent til all the ink is spent. I write so the letters of the alphabet can meet and intermingle with each other and create words that make worlds that circumvent yours. So therapeutic, the penicillin of my penmanship.

I write cause I have way too many good reasons why I should and I’ll have way more contradicting ones in the next few minutes. I write, cause I want you to write back. Where is your pen?