another day

I ended up crying at a neighbours place to fill my day I felt wasted. I am suppose to be a poet. So I am trying to get another book of long omitted poems  knowing I might not live long enough to be creative.
It did create the so called depression - I just don't know why. I have a collection of poems since 1990.
It it  a long time to look back written at the time emotions screamed to get out, but -  etiquette did not permit it. I have tried to behave according to present (or maybe outdated ways of relating to people).
I do have about 100 poems to correct presentable for publishing. Beastly me! Why should I speak and write by some one else's program? My life was and is not like theirs. Yet, if any one reads my feelings, screaming in the poetry, they might make comparisons and learn some way to solve theirs.
This sounds like a diary I don't like to write publicly, but what will I gain or learn keeping it all in my self? I don't get any comments so far.  I might not ever. But... God, please grant peace for my mind...