We Write Because . . .

I write because its fun. I really wish I knew, mostly I write about people, places or to make a point. Writing gives me the opportunity to express myself, mostly I write about my lord and savior jesus christ. I wish everyone would accept him for their lives. He gives a peace like you cant bend and where else. He offers forgiveness of all our sins not just little ones but big. He truly is the only way to heaven. Would you be willing to try? Accept Him Today,

-Maryalice Cheadle

I write because i think its important to unclutter your thoughts after the days over ans its time to unwind and Relax not just the body, but your mind to so the tension can ease as I shake off into the blank abyss of Darkness. It can be personal or something that you need to express yourself, but not have to share it, writing can help you do that and give you some clarity or relief from your mind to be able to focus on things I need to get done, but also I write to take myself and other readers to a different place where creativity flows and out imagination transforms as we read along its great and I enjoy reading what other share to the group it never a dull moment and sometimes I have to remind myself no matter the reason or topic everyones story has a piece of their unique personality and creativity. 

-Tyler White

I write because 

I cannot survive

without putting 

my consciousness on paper 

for someone

to witness

my observations

of CHAOS!

Otherwise I will grow

a third HEAD!

Occasionally I show

up to write because 

I require the Alliance of

Humans around 

me writing as well

I like the felling 

of witnessing their 

BRAINS out loud

or prose!

-Kelz

I write because I can. I write to connect the little pieces of myself like stars. I write to understand myself. To shine a beam of light on the parts of me that lie dormant. I write to give voice to my soul. I write to give comfort. I write to capture memories. I write to turn the old and rusted gears in my mind. I write for myself. I write to give myself the love and care I thought I could only give to others. I write for the version of myself who thought he was too shameful to be perceived. I write because I am the most comforting person I know.

-Ace

I Right BEE-Cause!!!
My words come out really funny my mouth . . .it doesn't know a thing but I let it run away thoughtlessly, the foolishness. AHH, Grandfather's playing like a child. 

                                                         I I I
        OOO
                                                        UUU
                    something special . . . I love yoo.

In our imagination everything is so wonderful, just as we would want it to be.

             A M A Z I N G ★*! ! !

This is the land of sunshine,
The land of never-ending love

It's really there an can never get washed off ever again.
The charm, if just for minute
lives in this reality
but Oh Oh Oh Oh - forever in the land of imagination, write the world you want it to be.

Reality has rules - I don't know why you all insist on this constricted brainwashing! Y'all must of forgot that when you let your imagination become reality and when you let reality become imagination -  you are FREE.

Love bigger than you ever imagine is possible.

When my voice trembles, my pen doesn’t. 

When my words from my lips seem to disappear like mists in mountains of ears, 

I can still carve my heart into the rocks, 

Unmistakeable, 

Unshapeable, 

I write because 

It’s better than the scream ripping itself from my throat, 

Better than a frantic protest being swallowed into my stomach. 

I write because 

In written words I find much more clarity- not only of mind, but of self 

The clamor of parts shouting to be heard 

uniting into a singular thread

                       -Hannah   

I write because…

There are things I like to remember 

and to be reminded of. Because I forget

what a knew until I reno.

But what do I know?

I write because someone might read it

after I’m gone. Someone might read

it when I’m right there watching them 

read it. In that case I could have 

just said it. But then do we 

remember what is written more than 

what is said. Some say talk

is cheap but no one says 

writing is expensive. Expensive to

trees or squids or

wherever ink comes from.

I’ve written down things that were

annoying to read later

but can now be used as a 

timeline marker for when I was

smoking too much weed.

I write because they made

paper and pens and stuff.

-Jackson

I write because

It’s my passion. 

I knew when I was just seven years old 

Fresh from cementing the skill itself 

Covering every pencil in sweet lil germs

And covering every page in silly lil stories

Mostly of what lived in my head at the time

Princesses

I made this known in every way I could

But the one way it could stay forever

Was on the page. 

I still smell the sweet cafe of my thoughts

On that very first page. 

Little me decorated her own room – 

When she got one  – 

With sloppy stapled pages of her creation

Almost like a crime scene

With how much proof of passion was found

One day she ripped them all down

In a fit of fury

But they’re safe now

In a sticky childhood drawer

I think about them all

Every now and then

Because yes writing was my first love

I’m practically married to the subject

With the pen [___]

And the degree I will dawn it its name. 

But really I’d still love it all

Without some funny degree

Because writing has loved me

When I knew nothing else

And I am determined to love it just the same.

                                -Rachel

Inhale through my nose, deep pause. Slowly release my diaphragm exhale every thought. Nervous twitch, ach, and tension with a subtle easement your eyes release their lids and close focusing on your feets sole the other soul, but also just as important feel your nerves turn to roots like this beautiful maple tree as they find their way through the ground a whole new world the intertwine with the maple trees both pulses matching now I’m truly grounded and bliss flows in the darkness of my mind. Blank peace this is where you connect with all and God for however long you want, your body heals thoughts that race go away aches that annoyed no more for the rest of the day it’s yours to 

Conquer, grounded in the moment, time doesn’t belong here.

-Tyler White

Breathe. Shove your toes into the dirt. Know yourself. Remember yourself. Don’t take things personally. Remember to laugh. Smile at yourself in the mirror. Don’t take yourself too seriously; counteract the cortisol rushes with kindness. Find beauty and joy in the liminal. Remember that because everything is profound, nothing is profound. <3

-Hannah

She is always here beneath us holding us tightly wrapping us softly with moss and deep rhododendron groves in full bloom, dip your head beneath the water, feel the currents carry away the ties that bind you to the pain the way you carry it all, let it fall from your shoulders, give it back to her. She will lighten your load, she will swallow up your tears and turn them into rain to cleanse you once again. Sink your feet into the cool grass, wiggle your toes, watch the sparrow fly, left to right, left to right, beat its wings against the night, become the light. 

-Atlas

Take off your shoes, 

Take off your shirt, 

and wave it around 

your head like a helicopter

Feel the ground 

beneath your feet,

Feel the Earth 

within your heart

A living conscious being

Is communicating wether

We hear it or not. 

Are the different parts 

separate to the whole? 

Is your arm a different 

being than your head?

Can the finger point to itself 

pointing?

Can the mind mind itself minding? 

Can the ocean wave to itself while waving?  

- Jackson

My heart, my heart

cracking open from the pain of what’s to come

anticipating the loss of my first anchor

that greater field of love that held me at first gaze

awash in experience, amazing by form

every breath pulling me deeper into here

every act acted upon me either opening or closing

My heart.  My heart nests in hers.

When hers stops, mine is on its own.

Awash in experience, amazed(?) by form now

reduced to ash.

Now it’s mine to hold– all that she

never gave away.  The blood rope

stretching back in time, beyond the stars

that I feel reconstellating inside me.

My heart, my heart

can you learn to never close?

To only contract with exactly the right

force to push through further

into love.

-Carrie D. 

I could write about my narcissistic mother, the smothering thief of agency. I could write about my biological father, cult leader + spiritual manipulator extraordinaire. I could write about my emotionally absent Danish stepfather, ever avoidant of my mother’s wrath. I could write about the bottles of wine & aspirin at 15. I could write about almost dying + finding Jesus instead, married off as the subservient wife, hitched and pregnant at 20. I could write about what I call the Last Decade, a haze of evangelicalism, and purposeful psychological torture at the hands of my loving husband. I could write about how I left him, how he punished me by kidnapping my children for 9 months, alienating my oldest. I could tell you about what it was to have a job for the first time in over a decade, what it was to be accidentally pregnant + find out her father was a dangerous alcoholic. I could write about what it is to be a single mother doing it all alone in a world that keeps setting itself on fire. I could write about hope. When your mind is never not hijacked, when life is like a literal minefield – hope, the kind that lives deep in your soul, fuels your courage. Courage to jump w/ out knowing where you’ll land, courage to believe that there 

I was born neither west nor east of the Mississippi, but rather afloat a small jaunty, lost in the raging current and swell of hurricane waters that would go on to kill millions… but not me.

My father made and sold moonshine… on state land, which the government had first stolen from him.  That was in between Sunday’s sermon which he delivered to the better of his community.

My mother worked at home, and the six sons she gave birth to before me all died working in the fields before the age of two, before they could complain about the work, but not me.

My first word, usually some variant of “mother” or “father”, was in fact, “mother fucker,” when addressing a gentleman who [wanted] to steal my candy.

But it was the nanny(?) who robbed my cradle, and my son who dropped out of high school with me, to help “papa” sell moonshine and doll out god’s justice on the unrepenting.

Where’s the money?  God forgives on Sunday, and today’s Monday… back to work.

Flask forward to today.  I’ve shaven my head, and eaten 100 hits of acid between summer solstice and fall equinox.  I am catching flies with my chopsticks, but use my buck knife to open oyster after delicate oyster, mushing their living organisms in my teeth, swallowing, before regurgitating the good matter my body doesn't need, as I thrive off absorbing the life energy of the animal rather than the calories of metabolism.

I realize I’m god before taking a shit anyway then take a flop on the couch before watching Vin Diesel in the Fast and the Furious, which has become a sort of creedo in my life.

It’s not the fast cars I relate to, it's the fast minds behind the wheel. Watching my fellow man, granny shifting, instead of double clutching like you should. I live my life a quarter mile at a time… for those ten seconds or less, I’m free.

The doorbell rings, and my girlfriend’s brought her girlfriend over again. I don’t like her voice, but she has pretty eyes. I put my gun on the dresser and walk over to the powdered mirror in the armoir.

She tries to kiss me, but I don’t let her look me in the eyes. I see a tear form in hers, but water lies, just like that one night on the MS some years ago.

-Derek