I write myself
My voice, my thoughts
Undisguised
Unplanned
Imperfect
But real, oh so real
True to my heart
To my thoughts, to my soul
True to me and to my world
Yes, my world
As it is my world
As much as yours
And as much as theirs
And the man on the corner
And the old woman lying
Dying, ending
Not her world anymore
But still ours, yes
Still mine
And I will speak and write of it
For the world to hear
To read, to see and to understand
If they can understand
Can they?
Not always, no
And what they do not understand
They protest, rebel, refuse
Try to quiet me, silence me
Steal my voice and call me crazy
Am I crazy?
Perhaps
But crazy comes and goes
like the light of the sun
And though crazy, I am still true
Still here, alive and real
And I will not be silenced
Render me mute
and I shall write instead
Take my pen
And I shall prick my fingers
And write in blood
My blood
My soul
The purest way to write, I believe,
Of this world
This unplanned, uncensored world
As it is
And it is yours and mine
And always has been, always shall be
For it can not be anything else
Lest it cease to exist at all.