Why I write 5 a.m. I can feel it slowly approaching; slumber. Yet still I resist- I write. I deftly link word after word, As I do I verbally recite Them, written words made to spoken As they are born onto paper. No one is here with me To bear witness to my art. No microphone or audience, What is the purpose in this- the sense? There is none. There is just me alone In my room, on my bed with One eye opened, one closed. Writing. Writing because it grants me more peace Than sleep Ever has. Writing because… I love it and I would prefer poetry Over almost anything. You see… Were it not for these spontaneous poetic Inclinations, I would never have known myself I wouldn't now be, The me you See. I am simply Writing Because it (and life) Is god's gift to me. It's like he knew I would be thirsty For something, But now I'll never run out of water. These words are More than hydration, Resistant to condensation, They are whole, unique, They set me Free. This is why I write.