I write for no one except me.
I write for no one because they see
Pain and distress in the words I speak.
They don’t see the beauty.
Instead they stiff letters peak
Up with a different voice,
A different tone.
I let my words be mine, mine alone.
I have no choice,
I am only mine truly.
There is a friend.
One who listens to my words with his heart and not his head.
He tells me, “Ten,
These words they send,
Send lively spark through me with no end.”
I smile, brightly;
Even if it’s slightly.
So maybe, just maybe
It’s not all for me.
I write for anyone.
Those who care to read,
Who understand and walk my beat.
For poetry isn’t only for one
It is for the people who lead
A walk which travels across many beats.
The ones who let their minds wander
For their minds grow fonder
And opens it to see what others see.
They can choose anyone like me.