One day I was proposed a question
That never ceases to leave my mind
My friend was curios as a kitten
Reading all the things I had written
He had seen me slaving
Over all the pens, paper and, yes, even late at night in front of a screen
He had seen the frustration
Over such little things when no words seemed to flow
And always he had been supportive, my dearest childhood friend
But now he seemed to wonder
Why I put myself to reach such a strange end

Why do I write?
Why must I put everything I think or know
Onto a paper that may never be read?
Why live through all the frowns
Of disgust or pure dislike
From people who just couldn't get the tiny inner point?
But the simple question
With such a deep meaning
Seemed so entirely easy
To answer without shame

Yes, it's work, yes, it does seem pointless
But with each little poem or story I write,
With each little quote I can give you to make a point
And with each completely piece of work finished
A little piece of my heart goes with it
Yes, it hurts, and yes, it can sometimes make you cry
For writing with pure emotion, thought or moral
You must be able to know what you talk about
And a little piece of your spirit goes with it
Because of how deep it goes into you
So, piece by piece, I write myself away
Sometimes about sadness or sometimes just to cheer
But, always, forever and as long as I know,
I will send a piece of myself along with the words

He was an understanding type, but sadly, not a writer
He asked why would I put myself through such a torture
When I never knew if anything would come of it
I laughed, dismissing the words, but the question still plagued me
Was there more of a reason?

Then all the poetry I remember and still read
Came back like a flood of good memories
This is why I write
Because when you put a little piece of yourself
It will let someone see you, just a piece
And the emotion will come back much more strongly
When you read someone else's art
And see a little piece of them
To take into yourself

So we give a little, but we get back a lot
This is why we write
To spread ourselve's around with just a little piece
And we gather up all the pieces the friends we may never meet
Into our minds
Our spirits
And our hearts