I wish my hands would open like floodgates,
and pour fourth my heart held inside,
my fingers the hinges,
the pencil my flood
I want my words to beat loud like a boombox,
held high to give an introspective
thump to the pumps of
your heart

This leads me to ask myself,
What is the point of  t h e  poet?
What is its purpose?
Why is it that I want to convey
my heart through words?
Why do I feel it would help
to translate my soul
through poetry
when my only audience
can't even see my eyes?
What's the point?
Is it only for my own benefit,
A way for me to express myself,
To open up
To people whose eyes I can't see?
Or is a way for me to reach them,
The ones in which our eyes will never meet?
Maybe I'm thinking way to deeply
Perhaps I've had too much coffee
So tell me, poets, if I'm crazy
Of if you're just like me