For Myself

Shy words creep through the open slit of thought

but who will listen

want to peep through every living  thing.

if not the idea of ones lingering wish



My hope to anonymously make art for myself.

no one needs to listen

an artistic silence fulfilling my shelf

of mangled wonderings tugging my desire


The creak of curiosity my writing book reveals

when it asks what today

the dance of my pen when we seal our deal

a team we are, nothing without each other


This poem is about: 
My community


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