I wake up writing things
\nto myself.
\nIs there no one I can write to?
\nNo one dear enough
\nthey\u2019d read my words
\nand love me anyhow?
\nI have become so involved
\nwith my involvement,
\nthat people have wandered away.<\/p>\n
I am not the child they knew,
\nthe man they knew.
\nThe customary, ordinary person
\nthat spoke to them
\nand shared their thoughts.<\/p>\n
I have made different friends,
\ncats, elephants, birds,
\ntrees that lean patiently in the wind,
\nbut they do not read the written word,
\nso I have no addresses
\nto send my postage to,
\nexcept pillows I stuff letters in,
\nand read when I wake up.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I wake up writing things to myself. Is there no one I can write to? No one dear enough they\u2019d read my words and love…<\/p>\n