No one, I repeat NO ONE is more surprised than me that I'm not turned off by your secret poetry blog. Normally I roll my eyes at "tortured soul" artist-types, but for some reason, I'm into this. I will never bring it up to you that I've seen it and I will never tell anyone else about it. I'm in on this secret world of yours and in a weird way, it makes me feel closer to you. (That's so creepy, right?)
I only found it because I was lurking on your MySpace page--because we all know it's impossible to stalk anyone on Facebook--and I dug through your old MySpace blog entries. Two and a half years ago you wrote a post about how you have a new poetry site. I clicked on the link and there they were: your poems typed into concise, neat paragraphs. You don't list your name as the author but instead you chose a wacky pseudonym like Dr. Riffraff or Professor Unlucky. I don't even mind that it's on a boring Blogspot page layout that comes as the default setting!
You haven't invested any energy into the look of the thing: no links, no pictures, no nothing. No one has ever commented on a poem, but there they are, streaming down the page like an army of marching ants.
I like that you have this secret part of the Internet. I imagine you late at night, curled up on your bed, typing your poems out for no one in particular. Reading through them is like being able to flip through the pages of your journal. It's a thrill to get a peek inside your brain. Keep it up, my little poet. I find your secret poetry blog strangely alluring. Who knew?