I cannot see outside of me
Just as I cannot see the other side of the other screen
Or the person who might admire my words
Or just how they might even appear to be

But this is fine and alright with me
Because foresight flows most equally
Both to and from the truth within
Until such truth is know to me

And just as I might never see
The person who reads my poetry
There is something refreshing inside of me
Like an inherent truth reminding me

That only the readers who I let see
Will ever get a chance to be
Within that certain sight in question
First and foremost, as it appeared to me