I May Play Aound With My Own Gifts Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

I remember once,
Of having the nature of giving.
And enthusiastic,
By the mere participation...
In the doing of it.

But when I heard from others' lips,
I should not expect most...
To feel that same way.
And there I was in heated sweat...
With the giving of myself,
Assisting them?
With the expanding,
Of their expressed creativeness.

Someone wasn't getting what I had attempted,
To enlist.
Someone attempted to take my experiences,
And make a mockery of it.

And when I discovered being looked upon,
As a fool for doing this! ?
There were no long goodbyes with sighs.
My eyes I placed on an exit.
And I through that exit I went quick.

I may play aound with my own gifts.
But for others to do it?
That's not allowed.