On Artistic Integrity

I toe the line of self-indulgence
 Every time I place my pen
 Upon the page
 And form the words
 I felt
 But couldn't show 'til then
 And to myself
 I beg the question
 Why do I thus masquerade
 As one to one
 And to another
 Someone else?
 If I
 Afraid
 Of what the consequence of stating
 Openly my cause might be
 When I rant
 And rhyme
 And reason
 Do I write for them
 Or me?
 I believe there is some merit
 In creating for one's self
 But why place before the public
 What is best
 Left on the shelf?
 Though while I write
 I do not feel that
 What I pen is mine alone
 Even this could be misguided
 As are many I have known
 Who swore, poor souls
 That they possessed
 The key to man's mysterious fate
 Succeeded in convincing some
 But most could tell
 They did but prate
 On subjects
 Touching something vague
 Which cannot be unproven, or
 In place of content
 Speak in tongues
 Yet know not whom they're speaking for
 No, I am not deluded so
 I do not feel I represent
 Some force divine
 But still I know
 That I shall never be content
 To hold my tongue when I would speak
 Or change my words to suit the hour
 Or pinch a blush upon my cheek
 To feign my joy
 At love gone sour
 I do not wish to disappoint
 The faith that others place in me
 To lead the way to brighter days
 But sometimes dark
 Is all I see
 I work for good
 I toil for hope
 No one can question my intent
 But even those who listen close
 Can often mistake
 What I meant
 My fear
 I've come to realize
 Is mainly this:
 That I am wrong
 That my perception is askew
 That I write shyte
 And call it song
 Perhaps I'll always question thus
 Discount my merits
 Thoughts
 And deeds
 'Tis well
 Long as I still go forth
 And see where this
 My vision
 Leads
 Strong is she
 Who knows her mind
 And speaks it
 Though she may not please
 Fortunate the audience
 That hears such honest thoughts
 As these