An Exhaustive Search

Smudged

Messy papers surround me,
Each smudged with ink,
Leaving you to wonder
Why this is the case.

They occupy my entire room
With barely enough space
To walk without slipping,
For I write more than I throw out.

What I write is poetry,
An interest that developed
A few years ago,
Giving rise to a passion ever since.

For conveying thoughts,
Standard is speaking,
A tradition if you will,
But I don't work that way.

If I speak,
I'm unable to say everything I need,
But if I write,
I'm able to say everything I need.

Poetry is my best medium,
Far better than speaking
And even other forms of writing
Because I express myself best.

Messy papers surround me,
Each smudged with ink,
Now you know
Why this is the case.