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.

Then again

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.