It starts with why I write.

Why I choose to write.

Obviously, it’s because there are benefits.

Only a fool would do things that pose no benefit.

I write because I’m flawed.

I write because I can’t think quick on my feet.

My mental prowess falters when haste is of greatest need.

This renders me useless in the heat of discussions.

Revealing my insecurity of being misunderstood.

Once again, I write because I’m flawed.

I write because I often default to anger.

An anger that births from losing control.

Losing control of a conversation.

Once again, I write because I’m flawed.

I write with the hopes of thinking.

A skill so underrated that it’s almost forgotten as one.

I know I can’t master it.

But it’s immoral to not strive to be competent in it.

A slow thinker as I needs much time to process.

Writing needs time and time comes when one writes.

Once again, I write because I’m flawed.

Writing limits my many flaws.

It generously reveals more flaws I did not know of.

What better than to unearth new flaws to right.

This is the benefit of writing.