This is the poem

This is the poem
for all the lovers,
who are not loved in return.

This is the poem
for all the thinkers,
trapped inside their heads.

This is the poem
for all the romantics,
without someone to hold.

This is the poem
for all the lonely ones,
hoping to forget someone.

This is the poem
for all the alcoholics,
drinking themselves to sleep.

This is the poem
for all the writers,
stuck between the lines.

This is the poem
for all the tired ones,
losing sleep over themselves.

This is the poem,
for all the listed above;
for no one else;
no exception.

James Andrew Crosby