What makes me write you ask? Well here is;according to that which you can never see,hear what is.
Everything makes me write.
What I feel makes me write.
I feel you should know this;look more than twice.
I am not what I seem to be.
What killed me twice makes me write.
If it serves your curious nature,
Know it is men and my stupid ‘calculated risks’ that got to me.
But remember, curiosity killed the nosy feline.
What I see in the sky makes me write.
The stars and the eye of the gods fill me up to the brim.
What has been stolen from me makes me write.
Perhaps I am not empty,
It is but just an illusion that has me on my toes.
But what truly has me writing is who I am.
My real name.
My true name.
No one knows it but me.
It is a secret I’d defend with my life over and over.
Then twice over all that latter.
I have defended it life after life.
My beautiful name!