Writers are truly amazing.

      I don’t say that because I’m one of them.

I say it because we are.

      We’re always thinking,

            always imagining.

                  We scribble.

                        We cross out.

                              We write and annotate,

                              sometimes.

Often we don’t make sense.

That’s what it seems like at first.

      Those, by the way, are the ones called poets.

Other types write stories or essays,

      or even lyrics to songs.

No matter what type.

      We write.

Why do we do it?

      We can’t help it.

Our thinking is wired for that.

      We are the chosen ones.

            The gifted ones.

                  The ones to entertain.

Many times we are impelled.

      Even at the expense of

      Everything else.

The truth of it is.

      We can’t help what we do.

            Because this is our life.

Without pen to paper,

      We are only dust in the wind.