Everybody Seems to Like My Poetry

Everybody seems to like my poetry
And, I guess, I really don't know why
I mean I try
But it's only the best I can do
And it's true
The words do come from the heart
The open part
And I try to describe the feeling
But it's such a feeble attempt

Everybody seems to like my poetry
Except sometimes the poet
I mean, he doesn't show it
But at times he knows there's more
And insecure
With the simplicity with which he writes
So plain and light
He wonders why he writes the way he does
But it's all that he knows how

Everybody seems to like my poetry
And so I keep on writing
Just deciding
That the words I choose may never be considered great
But some relate
To the things that I attempt to say
And someday
Maybe I will say enough
To know exactly why I said them