my soul is poetry.

the inner linings are the stanzas
strong and protecting against the white barrier of a page
or the inevitability of time

it flows like free verse
or runs like rhymes
never stopping, never starting, endless against the hourglass
which is my beating heart

the hollows of my chest are the words I never say out loud
but I spill out on paper like the confessions of a sinner
it is there they are finally allowed eternal rest
and are free from damnation

I am the twists and turns of a sonnet
a side stepped soliloquy
a dead end didactic

I am this
the words i write
the things i feel
the being i am

and i am poetry