And…

You don’t understand poetry
And that is fine.
I would hate it if you were living blind.
You don’t understand music
And the way it paralyses my brain.
You believe all artists are insane.
I have talked
And I will talk some more,
Until you feel the need to find the nearest door.
You see no good in those who are poor,
Those who give their life
For a better taste.
You don’t understand poetry
And that is fine,
I would hate it if you knew
Why I write.
You don’t feel the need to talk,
So we sit in silence
And listen to the walls.
You don’t understand
And that is fine.

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