I write because I want something good to read.
I write because my dad, in his pink marble urn won’t be coming back this time.
I miss getting phone calls and silly greeting cards from him in the mail.
He always addressed them with my name, followed by “or current resident.”
I write because candy comes in colorful wrapping, and because people grow up, not down.
I write when I am angry.
If I don’t, that anger will build up inside
Until I burst like a balloon in the hands of a careless child.
I write because people fill churches on Sunday mornings, so life must mean something.
I write because I love easily, and because there are Muppets.
Since kindergarten, I have been learning to share and to forgive,
And they’re harder to do than writing any day.
I write because I dream in Technicolor and not black and white.
I write because I can immortalize people who hurt me as “the bad guys.”
In his songs Cat Stevens urges me to do what I want,and not what people say.
I agree with Cat Stevens, so I write that down.
I write because if I didn’t, my hands would only display my rings.
I write because I read the book “Harriet the Spy” when I was eight.
On airplanes, I write while they prepare you for a water landing,
Even when you won’t be flying over a body of water bigger than a swimming pool.
I write because the clock is ticking, but my watch has stopped again.
I write because koalas dream sweet eucalyptus fantasies
Cradled in the branches of gum trees down in Australia.
I write because fashion-conscious ladybugs wear polka-dots.
My mother microwaves her ice cream so it won’t be too cold to eat.
It embarrassed her to know I wrote about that, so I did it a second time.
Sometimes I read too much, and I miss what’s going on around me,
So I write to keep a shoelace dragging on the floor of reality.
I write because little children smile at everybody, even when no-one smiles back.
I write because my brother and I still don’t know what kind of animal “Goofy” is.
I write because I am my father’s daughter.
A hot cup of tea will solve any problem,
Especially when I can’t think of what to write.
The comedy mask smiles and the tragedy mask frowns, so I write.
© 2018 Iris Baldwin All Rights Reserved.