I’m so sick of criticism
How can you tell me what is right?
Who are you to say what’s good
For me to write tonight?
You may not feel the same
You may not understand
But when I write to express my feelings
That’s the only thing that I demand
What would be the point
If I wrote what pleased you
If I tailored my expression
What good would it do?
Whether I chose to rhyme or not
Or whether it makes sense
Whether I’m writing the pain of blood
Or whether it seems to intense
It does for me what I intend
It lets my feelings out
So who are you to criticize
What I chose to write about?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem