SPARE ME...

I am neither a muse
nor a poet.
Spare me from your
expectations, the chains to my hands. 
My words are simple
yet absurd.
They won't heal you.
They won't jab you.
They are mere groups 
of letters,  nothing more.
I use them for myself,
to wipe my tears,
to dress my wounds.
Am selfish.
I am not writing 
(or copying?)
to leave a mark forever,
because am a synonym
of oblivion itself.
But
only if I could write
what is in my head,
only if I could express
what I feel...

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