I Write for Me

It was in the shadows of the night,

When I learned to write.         

“Listen to the words,” my mother said,

As seventies music rang in my head.

Although the artists sang whilst on narcotics,

Their musical words showed real promise.

The lyrics rolled so perfectly together

I knew I had to write something just as clever.

And write I did,

Again and again.

I wrote of my anguish and my joy.

I wrote of my friends, family, and foes.

Now I write for me and me alone.

My words kept in a book at home,

Where no one can tell me how they ought to be.

From my heart, I write each word for me.