Inadequate Title

poem by anonymous

i don't know why i write
when i know i can't describe
all that i want to say.
so i'll just sit within my room, scribbling away.
i don't know why i sing
when i know the song won't sound the same as the voice i want to replicate.
i'll listen to the playback and then feel more than just a bit ashamed.

i don't know why i try
when i know that my best ones will never compare to the ones that i want

but i try, and i sing, and i write, despite it all.
just to the dismay of my bitter inner thoughts.

to prove that it doesn't need to be perfect just to be
art is art and music is music and expression shouldn't be evaluated for a price, it should be free.
for it is a human trait to want to describe
to want to show your brightest or darkest inner skies
in the way you move your pen,
in the way you move your hand,
for your view is unique and it deserves to be seen.

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an enjoyer of all things human.

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