Why I Write.
By: Cody Charles
Tags: Family, Writing, BlackLivesMatter, Poverty, Black Liberation

My mother wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt.

It has become clear- I write and I risk, in order to raise the consciousness of the beautiful folk trapped in a world where self-authorship is not a known choice. I write for my mama, brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, cousins, aunts, uncles, family, and friends. If no one else takes anything from it, I’m still good.

I write to be read.

I write to practice exploration- to push the hidden boundaries I’ve set for myself through the vehicle of white supremacy.

I write to be heard and seen.

I write to learn.

I write to be recognized- to feel special, to be commended for my gift- I’m entitled to this. I would write without praise and accolades, but dammit if they come, I’ll enjoy them. It’s human, and I get to be that too.

I write to cope- to sift through my thoughts, and make meaning.

I write to define myself, and my experiences.

I write because it makes me feel in control- I can write about whatever topic I choose, and take whatever stance I want to. Though, this is not without consequence.

I write to imagine- to create spaces where possibility is centered.

I write to push, poke, and agitate status quo.

I write to be wrong- to be pushed and poked, so something greater is created.

I write because someone told me that I had something to say, and I deserved to be heard. I am entitled to voice.

I write to fuck shit up.

I write to bring things back together again- to mend wounds, and to heal once punctured skin.

I write to feel safe.

I write to practice vulnerability and empathy.

I write to expose my beauty and flaws and imperfections.

I write because other dynamic humans wrote.

I write to illustrate that I am both exceptional and ordinary.

I write in search of true love- love of self, love of others, and the love someone is waiting to shower me with. I deserve radical love, and I’m waiting for it. Tick, muthafuckin’ Tock.

I write to risk being violent, in hopes of being liberated.

I write so I don’t have to speak to you in person.

I write so I can be alone, and can’t escape my brilliance.

I write so I’m somewhat defined if the hands of white supremacy snatches me away.

I write to be remembered.

I write to create.

I write to be egoful, to attempt arrogance in a world that will always ensure I fall short.

I write to hear the creator say “well done.”

I write to be a contribution.

I write to make space for myself.

I write to breakthrough, to explode, and to set fire.

I write for common folk like me, searching for ways to do more than survive.

I write to inspire, to complicate, to trouble, to burn down.

I write so you don’t get me all the way fucked up.

I write to cover up my insecurities, and convince myself that I am not an impostor.

When I write it’s not always pure and authentic in nature. Sometimes I write to cover up the known truth that I’m not ready to deal with. I try to bury the insides of dark holes, in hopes of erasing the pain and violence I’ve both caused and received. You can’t trust me. Don’t trust me.

I write because I am broken, and unwhole.

I write because I am living in my fullness.

I write to examine, critique, and God willing find the truths.

I write radically, and not so radically.

I write to be understood.

I can’t always identify past and present participles, nonrestrictive modifiers, or subordinated clauses- and lawd knows, I love a good run-on sentence. But I remember my mother wrote. While sipping her Folgers and puffing on her Doral menthols, she filled yellow legal pads with thoughts, stories, struggles, dreams, and hopes. My mother doesn’t write anymore, and it saddens me.

But I write.

And, just for now, I’ll write enough for the both of us.

***If any of his writings help you in any way, please consider tipping here =>cash.me/$CodyCharles (Square Cash) or @CodyCharles(Venmo)<=

This is the work of Cody Charles; claiming my work does not make me selfish or ego-driven, instead radical and in solidarity with the folk who came before me and have been betrayed by history books and storytellers. Historically, their words have been stolen and reworked without consent. This is the work of Cody Charles. Please discuss, share, and cite properly.