As my futile attempt to write a poem comes to a close,
I wonder what the point is
What is the point of all the wasted hours,
all the heartache,
and all the metaphorical blood?
Who am I even writing for- myself or others?
Are my anguished hours necessary for another’s one moment of recognition?
And really, how deep can that recognition go,
Because no matter how hard I try,
no one will be able to know what I was thinking
when I wrote down my heart
for them to trample underneath their unforgiving criticism.
Lynne Crandall
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thoughts-on-poetry/
