You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.

The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...

-Walt Whitman


i write for no one

IF you think the words I weave are for you to wear, you can walk naked now. They have never been yours and never will be. You are not significant enough to upset me nor matter enough to stand for even just a blot, to push me to push the pen, earnestly, till my fingers bleed. You think this is for you, but really, it is not.

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