Writing For Others

a poem about sharing and popularity

what’s wrong with me?


the moment the notion of
sharing came up, I 
lept for it, let it 
become a conduit
for my own relatability,
to showcase poetic ability
to tell and to speak and to talk and release all the 
anger that brewed inside of me, I wanted to 
let it all into the world,
but

I can’t write a poem that’s not for myself.

knowing that it will be shared 
will destroy it,
so I must pretend 
this will never
see light

I can write essays, write poems, write paragraphs 
but not when I’m asked,
I’m never on task
unless there’s no other choice

I can’t keep commitments for shit,
I let out everything and
dry up in an instant,
I burn so bright I
burn myself to ashes
and it takes a long time
to grow back
and by then, 
the land has already 
moved along.

I can’t keep up with the
constant demand for
content, what’s wanted from
me or expected of 
me, I can’t seem to
see how it happens,
from what I can glean,
there’s some sort of reaction
and poof! Popularity
becomes a singular identity
a brand personality
quashing originality
until with the banality of it
transforms into a malady, where you’re
making what you’re known for
all that you know
making the spinoff
into a whole new show
and I don’t want to do that
but there seems to be no other way
when my only examples are
trampled through tried-and-true 
tropes, it’s a slippery
slope so it’s best to
stay away from the edge
and hope that my lesson
taught from tireless hours 
of observation
is not learned in vain

so maybe
the best way
to write for others 
is to stick to what I know
who I am
and keep away from
the edge. 

It’s a long way
down.