You can’t hear my words,
You can’t sing along to the tune,
You can’t listen for comfort in isolation.
You can’t watch my words,
You can’t view the imagery,
You can’t see descriptions as distraction.
You can only interpret my words,
You can only read my language,
You can only ponder my meaning.
I have to write down my words,
I have to give them a home.
Otherwise they stick in my brain,
Rambling on top of one another,
Never taking hold of anything real.
Poetry has a therapeutic purpose for me,
Poetry allows me to accept my own mind.
Yet I still wonder — is that reason enough?
Does poetry’s purpose immerse further?
Could this form of writing assist others?
Not necessarily therapy, but expression.
A simple way to convey thoughts and emotions,
Without drawn out paragraphs full of verbiage?
You can write poetry:
In times of joy
Or great despair.
You can read poetry:
To feel someone else’s emotions
Or bring understanding to yourself.
No matter how you interact with poetry
I advise you adhere to just one rule:
Poetry must be true.