as i write
and write and write
throughout my life
i wonder what it’s all about
who it’s all for

if it’s all for me, that seems
statistically
a little daft

for there are billions of
people on this planet of ours
and even more that have come before
and will join us
after we are all
gone

so to write for only one life
that feels
foolish

but again, the human condition is such that
writing truly and honestly
for yourself
often makes happenstance happen
and many many others
see themselves in your
words

so to write for others
in a way that makes others feel seen
you need not think of the others
[you must not think of the others]
else the writing comes off as
cliche
or trying to hard
or pandering to an audience

i can’t stop myself from thinking of an audience
even as i write these morning poems
daily
daily
daily
that i doubt even i could ever get through
on a re-read

i can’t help but wonder
if someone will love reading my words
with as much care and mild obsession
as i took writing them

[or is that not true — i’m not really careful
or obsessing
as i write these
every
single
morning — i’m flinging them
stanza by stanza
out into the ether
and hoping they catch the eye
of someone
who needs them]