I wrote a poem, but I won't let anyone read it,
because these critics betray history and the raw emotions in my thoughts. Their raging mouths decay my only freedom and motivation. Their unprofessionalism can't accept the destruction and possibilities of my words in the conventional world.


I wrote a poem, but I won't let anyone read it,
because people will begin to throw spiky questions about the depression I had, telling me that I should otherwise write about parental love or love of friendship instead of the intimate love that sounded really absurd to them.


I wrote a poem, but I won't let anyone read it,
because people may sentence my young comprehension to the complexity of life. I'm terrified that people may judge my immature mindset. They'll instantly tell me where I should be instead of showing me the different sides of the world. They'll tell me what I am instead of helping me understand who I am.


I wrote a poem, and I'd rather keep it in my drawer, wait for mature people who grasp the concept of different perspectives, and finally start this conversation.


To be continued.



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