Why I Write:
Not for praise. Not for fame. But because words matter.
Below is what I believe...

Sometimes, folks question what makes a poet “real.” They see edits and assume weakness. But the truth? Writing is the easy part—refining is the real work. Here's my answer to the critic who thought polish meant pretense.

The Real Work

You said my lines aren’t truly mine,
Because I tune them line by line.
But thoughts were sparked inside this head,
Each word I lived, each tear I bled.

You scoffed at polish—called it fake,
But real work’s done for passion’s sake.
Refining isn’t cheating, friend—
It’s how true poets find their end.

So tell me this, since you proclaim,
That I’ve no right to bear the name—
Where’s your verse? What have you shown?
The boldest words come from the known.

Desire, skill, the fire within—
I bring the match, the smoke, the wind.
So while you talk and scoff and mope…
I write the lines that give folks hope.

The poet’s pen isn’t weakened by help—it's strengthened by fire, forged in truth.

– Richard Bell