Not because I cannot live without it,
But because I cannot live with me,
Not because there is a perfect world,
But because I create that perfect world.

Not because I have seen it all,
But because I cannot have enough,
Not because in ink there's plenty love,
But to infest the world is what I want.

Not because you hear my words,
But because I see their works,
Not because it eases my cross,
But because you read me - that's a plus.

Not because I will live forever,
But because like smoke life will be over,
Not because I see the future,
But because this is my culture.

I write,
Not because I was born to,
But because ink chose me to,
I write because this is my go to.

I write,
Not because of the fruit,
But because I need to speak my truth,
I write to return to my root.

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Most writers find it hard to describe in few words why they write but the poet explains in few lines why she writes.