I write for all the things I should have said and did not,
To scorn you for all the hurt you caused me,
And for solace, comfort, and peace.
I write in rhythm and rhyme because of your crime,
I write poems and stories of your demise,
For all of the times you ignored my tear stained eyes.
Thus follows a symphony of analogy and simile.
I’m now free from your cuffs of rage and anti-amenity.
You say I can’t do this or go far in life,
I write because I know I can.
And I do.
Not to prove to you that I can or I am,
But for me.
The fact that I prove you wrong along the way,
Is just a perk.