I don't seek your permission...
To write about the what, why and how.
It could be a haiku or come in the shape of a cow.

I don't need your approval...
When I don't sound the least bit poetic...
In my mismatched metaphors or ill-rhymed acrostic.

I'm not asking for your blessing...
When I pen down and put up what I think...
Be it in cloying cliches or in tear drenched ink.

I don't crave for your understanding...
When my 10 word poems weren't filtered through your poetic lens,
Or if my contributions in collaborations lack in sense.

I don't hope for your likes...
If my content does not tickle your fancy,
Or if my words just rubs you silly.

I mean no disrespect...
But don't be too quick to click on the 'comment' button.
Private messaging has been put there for a reason.

I don't mean to cramp your style...*
You're entitled to your own opinions of course...
But if you've got nothing good to say, please save it and shove it up yours.

Annabel wore white
as she laid under a Willow
She brought her brown basket
and a comfortable red pillow

She laid in the shade,
writing and reminiscing.
Bringing forth a smile
for the one she was missing.

Her days had been growing longer
and she knew wasn't fearless.
Sitting under their Willow
writing to her dearest

She wrote about his charm
She wrote about his smile
She wrote about his laugh
She wrote about his style

She wrote until the Sun turned off the day
She wrote from her heart and all it couldn't say

Annabel finally stood, picked up her basket and started walking home.
Leaving all her notes and poems, upon his gravestone.