The Evil ‘I’

I started writing poems
I vented all my spleen
I wrote all of my feelings
I gave you all I’d seen
I nailed down words in narrow verse,
testament to my self
I filled the screen with driven thoughts
to aid my mental health

I shared all of my heartache
I shared all of my shame
I shared and shared with nothing left
I wrote on all the same
I made myself the center
the voice that must be heard
the focal point for all your lives
in the metaphor of a bird
I gave myself psychosis
I made myself divine
I made myself the one true voice
the audience was mine
I wrote a life worth living
and one for dying too
I shared it all with others
was I supposed to listen too?

But in return you gave me nothing
a cynical, cold stare
a sigh of resignation
You said that you’d been there
You said I needed content
some message to the words
A point beyond my feelings
a reason to be heard

But I’m the endless poet
and you can’t understand
that the feelings that I put down
Are an I-I-I-I sound

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