I write for you and for myself
and for no one else
not for money or for fame
or to impress those who don’t know me.
So I try to write the way I would speak,
if that were still possible—direct and true,
without false modesty or bravado.
Without fear of being misunderstood.
I want my poetry to be a windowpane,
a view through which you can see yourself clearly:
your strengths; your weaknesses. Your loneliness. Your joys.
Your anger—at injustice, at how things are, at those who hurt
Your struggles with self-esteem and self-loathing.
Your failures and disappointments; your griefs and losses;
your love affairs. The people in your life—family, friends,
The places you’ve been and are going—places where you live;
places where you’ve traveled;
places where you’ve never been.
The books you love and the ones you don’t like; the movies,
music and art that nourish you.
The things that make you feel alive or dead inside.
I write for myself, but I also write for you.