Why I Write

I write

as a Black woman

with galaxies

in my head

and history

in my bones.

I write

to call my wandering thoughts

back home.

To sit them down gently.

To ask them

what they need.

I write

to soothe the questions

that do not have language yet.

The ones that beat

in my chest

without answers

or permission.

I write grief

the kind

I cannot fully name,

the kind

that lives in my body

before it reaches

my mouth.

I write

with gratitude,

even when

my hands are shaking.

Even when

joy and sorrow

share

the same breath.

I write

the unfiltered.

The intrusive.

The truths

that pull at my heartstrings

and refuse

to be polite.

Writing

is my lifeline.

It loosens

the weight of the world

pressing

against my ribs.

Writing

is my freedom

where I get

to be me

without translation

or apology.

Writing

is my safe place.

It is where

my soul stretches,

where my spirit

exhales,

where I gather

enough breath

to keep walking

in a world

that was not built

to hold me gently.

And still

I write.