Escape.

There are various, numerous ways to do this.

You might travel through skies and over bodies of waters to get your mind unwrapped around stress that you can't run away from. Or you can sleep away your discomforts and let your living nightmares rest while your dreams take you to the places you can only imagine being in. Maybe you even stare through your windows, allowing the lucid colors of the horizon to flood into your room and add saturation to the life that lacks color. But me? What do I do to escape? Well, I write.

I write to escape from this life, where I'm a prisoner behind barbed wire and all my police are my oppressors. I write because I have a story that's grasping for air to be told. I write to express the emotions that roam around in my head because no one is a better listener than a paper and pen. I write because the thoughts I think can't write for themselves. I write to have a voice in a society that's so keen on taking mine away. I write because the words on my page are filled with hopes, dreams, and possibilities. I write for the people who can't. I write because words etched onto paper are permanent and documented as spoken words mistle through the atmosphere and fade into mist overtime. I write to transfer my tears into graphite as I stab through the paper with fury and grief. I write because I forgive and forget and I make the same mistakes again and again. I write because I have to. I write because I want to. I write to express. I write to impress. I write because I am able to make up the life I'd preferably be living. I write so I can travel back in time through the streaks of pigment and see the little me. I write because there are no rules in a book where I am the creator. I write to flood my page with characters that remind me who I am.

Escape.

That's why I write.