What am I to you?

What do you, think of me?
Have you read my other poems?
Why don't you? Care to read?
My deep and twisted reality?

Do you care?
Why do I write?
To you, I have no face,
I'm out of sight.

How could you relate to me?
You don't know me, and can't see me.
Yet my words, you all follow,
As if you're close to me.

I know none of you, and I don't write for you,
I write for me, and I alone.
I only entertain, my words are like a book,
But all I do is bitch and moan.

Well? What do you think of me?
Positive? Or negative?
I'd really like to know.
What words from my heart really mean,
And to others, what words from my heart really show.