Whatevah

write
till it does not hurt anymore

write
till all the happy moments are consumed.

write
till all the aches are justified

write
till all your revenge is dissipated

write
till all angles are examined

write and keep on writing
till all of you is hidden, till all of you is folded back

write and keep on writing still
because you are your writer and there is no one who knows you well

except yourself, and what they know shall only be
skin deep

because you want it so,
you are the king in the jungle of your uncertainties
the Tarzan hitting his chest before Jane came and ruined it.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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