I do not write for recognition or glory. I do not write to have my name known in a classroom or a conversation. When the world is turning upside down and my mind is going a hundred miles per hour, I sit down and just write. Anything that comes to mind finds its way down my arm and onto the page. As the ink dries, I allow the feeling of hope and relaxation to flood over me.

I write to elicit emotions from my readers. I want people to feel through my words as I try to paint a picture using only text. I want them to understand what pain is, what love is, what it feels like to be on top of Mount Everest or at the bottom of a newspaper.

I write so that I can express myself and connect with others. Through poems, short stories, articles and lists, I connect with people I have never met before, but still touch their souls through the passion I instill into all of my pieces.

I write to allow my opinion to be heard among the billions of perspectives flooding through the atmosphere at every moment of every day.

I write for those who cannot express what they are feeling and look toward the written word for assistance in understanding what they are experiencing.

I write for the years I spent silenced in my room, too tortured within my own broken mind to speak up against the torment being thrust upon me.

I write to maintain a form of happiness within my chest that only begins to stir as I begin to transform images into terms.

I write for the younger generations to find love in words the same way I did, before they fall victim to the world of videos and electronic devices that have already begun to swallow up the joy of reading a good book.

Part of me will always want to be a writer. It is a dream that I have held locked in a box close to my heart for the majority of my life. I take solace in the words that grace the yellowed pages of some of the greatest works of all time and I just hope that someday my own words will do the same for others.