Why I Write, Part x+244: A Man Without a Demographic

I don't know how to write for the young ones.

I remember when life was all excitement and exclamation,

Except the parts that were disinterest and depression,

But it changed before I finally learned how to live.

I don't know how to write for the old.

I don't know everything they know,

Nor even know most of what I don't.

I don't know how to write for the broken,

Despite recent, bitter experience.

It is not enough just to understand–

If I knew, I'd no longer be among them.

I don't know why to write for the healthy.

By cultural definition, they don't like to read.

I don't know how to write to privilege,

Despite my sex and my skin,

Nor how to write for the privileged,

Whom I've always thought I was fighting.