questions of why

Photo by Sam J

this is what I do
when nothing else works
words happen here
when nothing else can…
when the bosses say No
and the gatekeepers say Wait, You’re
Not Ready
when the family is confused
and the friends just don’t get it
this is where I go
to find what’s true about myself…
but I ache to be more
than a stream of outpouring emotion — 
put some respect on my name,
so I can know what that feels like…
but then I wonder,
maybe the moment that happens,
the fountain could run dry — 
no reaching, no yearning,
no questions of why
…choices undoubted
and fates be denied,
a heart unexamined
makes for a life that’s a lie

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“Only on Earth is there any talk of free will.”― Kurt Vonnegut (Slaughterhouse-Five)

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Garbage Notes:

Writing is an important outlet for me. No surprise there. When things aren’t going well for me personally or I need to feel like I’m doing something meaningful, I pick up the pen. I type things out. I purge.

Sometimes it arises out of a desperate need—for connection, for healing, for recognition, for catharsis, or for action when no other course is possible.

You’re going to hit a lot of red lights and stop signs and all sorts of road blocks on your path to wherever you’re going. You’re going to hear a lot of people telling you No. And worse, you’re going to face a lot of people who just aren’t all that interested in what you’re doing.

But you keep going.

You might ask yourself, why am I doing this? You might think, how long can I go without any tangible recognition?

But seriously, that’s not where you’re going to find your Why. The answers aren’t found in other people. And the answers don’t magically appear the day you start getting recognized.

If anything, when I wrote this poem some time ago, it helped me realize that maybe the real answer is in the searching, in the exploring, and in the constant questioning.

Because if you had all the respect and validation you ever desired, would you still possess the same desperation? That same fire. The same zeal? The same desire to be heard?

I don’t know. I don’t have the answer. And that’s sort of the point of this poem. No one does. You keep writing, keep creating, keep letting those parts of yourself go free. And don’t ever stop questioning, lest the fountain run dry.

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Franco Amati 2025

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