Why Do I Write?

Why do I write? How do I live?
When the only thing in my mind has to do with pen
and paper?
Why do I waste ink
on a white sheet
that would get lost anytime
when it feels like it?
Huh?
A simple hard cloth
that would give up
the value of my words
over a simple drop of tear.
Why do I get frustrated
when my mind speaks
and my heart listens
but words failing to come together
as one print?
Why do I write more than I read?
Why do I shake that pen against my head
when I struggle to come up with a title?
Why do I write like I'm a poet?