Poet


I don’t mean to insult you

But this poetry is not about you.

Though, my heart is open to your view,

it was never once written to impress you.

Connect if you feel it

understand if you can see

But do not convince yourself you are clever

just because you can read.

True understanding comes after

when the line somehow resonates

and lingers

touches forgotten parts of you

like ghostly fingers.

Echoes like a truth that slices deep.

The real poetry

lies in what is written

without expectation

of ever being read.

 

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