Why Do I Create?

Why?

Why does a blank page

beckon me,

compel me

to mar the unblemished

with writings embellished

or serious or amusing

or one of my sundry musings?

Why?

Why do figures of speech

seek me,

call me

like an eager schoolboy

who wants an attaboy

for using his way to pass

or be recognized in class?

Why?

Why does theprose.com

intrigue me,

entice me

to enter a challenge

or write a word salad?

Do I do it for a few likes,

to test my literary pipes?

Why?

Why do the answers

elude me,

puzzle me?

Is defining creativity

the stuff of subjectivity?

With nothing in sight,

I guess I’ll just write.