Since I write poetry, I decided to share some. Here's one. 

Every Single Person

I’ve got a whole world behind me,
and a whole life ahead of me.
I don’t care right now what I’ve left
in the life I led
back then.

Right now I feel as if I could write an
eternity
of poems that might touch the hearts
of every
single
person
on the face of the earth, and even then
I would never really be satisfied.

My life...

What is my life made up of?
When I think back now, what’s really left?

Am I really a complex person made up of
every
single
person
that I have ever met?

Or am I just an image reflected in iterations
of hundreds folded over thousands folded
over
every
single
person
ever in existence on this earth?

I feel like each new musing
takes me farther away
but closer
to the heart of human existence.

And yet I feel like there’s no point to it,
that I’d find myself asking what it’s worth.

How many more must I write before I can finally
escape the world, the weakness, the humanness
to which I have been bound?

And why have I been bound here?

“Why...”
                the words of every unreal dreamer,
                philosopher to the human mind
                and human heart...

“Perchance to dream...”
                the dreams I live
                are waking permanent
                and dying eternal...

I wish to just let go...
I wish to just let loose...

But my words are bound to this page,
except when you shall take it...

Not that you ever would...

But that will be my last hope...

A hope for every single person...
every
single
person
who might perchance across this poem
                cross,
that you should read it, and
not realize when or why I wrote it,
but in great manner how.