i do worry

this isnt a diary, or maybe it is.
i worry, i fear and most of all I loath, that there is so ,much of me that is practicly nothing.
that my poetry is unread that everything terrifies me, the sighs and glimpsis of others.
and I belive this maybe a snobish act of me but I wounder sometimes hoe others could not see my intlect.'how some may call me slow becasue I dont understand what they`re saying.
I think, act, create in a diffirent way, and in a sort, I suppose it realy dosent help me in my daily life, but it creats a whole invisible world that is unseen by your bleake eyes.
so as you think your so inntelegent and we watch a cirten movie and at the end of it all you could think about was how pretty the actress`s hair was, parden me if I think you not fit to judg my mintal cpacities.
I d tend to m=be abnormaly fragil-ly touched by the smallest of words and ations but it sheds m pesona as an artist. and I se all the groups, and packs of fellas being tortured togither, and as we all know misery dose love company and I find my self so alone in this battle.
there arent those who paint along side me who write along side me who share what I feel of constant doubt and worry.
and so, my point is, at the end of the day, at the end of this pice.
I do worry.