I am engraved with insanity.

for in my head, a thousand stories live

I try to paint them on paper to set them free.

But in me lies a library.

A thousand unpublished books that scream

They scream to be set free and be read by the world.

But no audience glares at me.

To them, I am a madman shouting my poetry for no ear.

dull, uninterested peers look at me insincere

All they talk about is:

Dating, music, dancing, grooving, parties and drinks.

What about my library and me?

Should I abandon it? Let it be full of spider webs.

Should I tear the books apart?

lock the door and throw the key far

I do not know. But one thing is certain.

My stories will always live.

because he, she, or they

They will always be here for me.

The nameless publishers

whose faces I have never seen.

They read through my library.

“Publish me to the silent audience.”

sometimes send it back to me

but my thousand books remain

read only by a few eyes, which is all I need.

For that, thank you.

Unknown publishers. FUNDZA.