I was young when I started writing poetries,
My feelings on a paper, were my priorities.
It felt good to give them words,
I was relieved to see them on the paper.
I shared a few of them with you,
You appreciated me, that feeling was new.
Your praises kept me going on,
Your clapping hands made me want it more.
But suddenly your hands stopped and I was confused,
You didn't like my work, that was your excuse.
That's when the realization hit me,
I was writing for you, and was not me.
Now, I don't know, what should I do?
Should I write myself, or what you want me to?
And I am really confused,
Is it me, or still you?
- Prerana Rathi
