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
touches forgotten parts of you
like ghostly fingers.
Echoes like a truth that slices deep.
The real poetry
lies in what is written
of ever being read.