I told myself: "Whatever happens, just write.
No matter if you're where it's noisy or quiet,
If you're in the backwoods or the sky is scraped,
Write poems, my dear, go ahead, don't be sad!"
Poor judges will come to me like flocks of flies.
What's it to me? They're empty-headed, not wise.
Their souls are locked by sulfur plugs you may hate.
It's anti-aesthetic but sometimes is great!
I'll tell you that I'm young and that I can write,
That my poems will have both darkness and light,
That harmony will be in dance of my words
And no graphomania - merely verse!