I don't know, this is just an outflow of my feelings....
Why don't you understand me?
The harsh words you say
Seem insignificant to you
But they sting my heart, every single time.
You say my poems don't touch you?
That they lack colour and life?
You rebel at my choice of words.
What you don't realize
Is that for me,
It isn't the fancy words that matter.
It's the intention, the emotion behind them.
I write for no one but myself,
So stop inflicting your opinions on me;
I have just stopped caring.
Because your criticism, I've realized,
Is more destructive than otherwise.
My poems are not things of beauty,
For you to admire.
They are reflections of my inner self,
And if you know me as well as you say,
You would realize that my inner self
Is not all that beautiful.
I can never be perfect, I'm sorry to disappoint you.
I'm not forcing you to read my work.
Why waste your precious time?
You can spend it on more worthwhile objectives.
All I ask of you
Is to stop criticizing,
Because you just don't understand me.