If you want to know me, read my poetry

I could write a million stanzas,

And still not convey what I mean.

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“If you want to know me,

Read my poetry.”

Is that it? Is that all? 

Do you know me now?

Perhaps you know me as much as you can,

From a one-sided conversation.

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What’s the point of it, then?

Of poetry, or the written word at all?

When it’s one person speaking,

And another one listening along?

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Is that a human connection?

One person listens to another.

Is that the reason we write?

Or is it just the start?