A Fools Tool
What a pathetic fool.
No one to hear my thoughts,
my concern, my plea.
Usually this is only for my eyes to see.
How sad, how lonely, how sorry this must be.
It does not make me happy. It does not make me angry.
I guess it just makes my empty seem less than a worry.
I can hear their whispers, how they mock me and call me silly.
Afraid of my thoughts as if they were ugly.
Unwilling to see that what this fool may write is worthy.
Blinded by what they can not understand,
that these words I cannot speak I may write so freely.
From this heavy burden of hurt, anger, betrayal, love, and
tenderness lies a deep emotional beauty that lives within me.
A tawdry fool are you to view something so special to me,
as lame and corny.
Clearly what you do not know appears to be scary.
Even if it is only words on paper made up by me.
So a pathetic fool I may be, unlike you who is just an ignorant fool.
I am a fool who uses pen and paper as a tool.
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