I can’t read it, but I write it,
I expose myself through words.
The thoughts inside my head are trapped,
until I set them free.
Fingers to keyboard.
Pen to paper.
My tools of expression to the world.
It makes no sense to me, but it comes out of me.
I write in short sentences and off rhyme.
I count syllables sometimes.
But I am not a poet, I don’t consider myself one.