I am not a poet.
I do not count my syllables or rime my lines
I do not scratch pages with metaphors so deep, their meaning soars above my head.
I am not a poet because I don’t write for everyone…
I write for me.
I am not a poet.
If I read in front of everyone, or a room, or one person,
I would hear no snaps, get no claps, have no feeling of elation from what others think.
Would I?  No, I am no poet, and I don’t know how to be one.

But you are a poet!

I guess, maybe, with the right light, the right background… I am, aren’t I?
If I tell myself enough times, maybe I just might believe it.
I am a poet. I am a poet. I am… me.
I always write my truth
Fill every line with emotions too strong to hold in one body.
I won’t stop.
Not even when I am out of words to write.
Not even when my emotions lay dormant just out of my grasp.
I do not need recognition, nor fans, fortune, or fame.
All I need is the subtlety of language married to the written word.
I am a poet.

I don’t understand
no matter how I try
why children and adults
are forced to live a lie
how so many around us
don’t realize the truth

Justice is Unjust

but there’s something we can do.
Almost every person
cares what other people think
and the outspoke voices
are the ones that truly sting
those who should be speaking
sit quietly and watch

Indifference is Infectious

and it all needs to be stopped.
Stop preaching all this poison
the body count’s already high
there should not be a reason
that children want to die

I’m standing on my soapbox
making my opinion heard
so listen to me closely

Cause I’m speaking more than words.

It knows everything about me
from how I write my letters
to what my words mean
it reminds me to be true
‘cause ink doesn't lie
Ink can’t be erased
doesn't fade over time

My pen
is an extension of my hand
like a cell phone
but much less bland

I wouldn't trade it
not for the world
not for green paper
not for keyboards
though sometimes I cheat on it with
Microsoft Word
it knows I will always return

My pen
my window to my soul
see without it
I’m lost
stare at blank paper
get locked in the madness
that doesn't have sound
without it words foreign
to my mouth, my tongue
Can’t be Found.

I am not a toy
to be put on a shelf
because you are bored.
Not an experiment
ready to sit and collect dust
while you collect data.

I don’t have the energy to
fold my hands on one knee
cross my legs like a
lady in a fashion magazine
and ponder if you
will ever want to play again.

I refuse to wait here quietly, patiently
for you to realize that I’m still here
that I still hang on every word you don’t say.
That I, covered in dust so thick I
wonder if I will ever see my skin while your
lack of presence is a heavy weight in my chest
wasting energy I don’t have just to keep my spirit
from the darkness that it was left in.

I refuse to wait for a proper goodbye
but I fear I will be waiting here forever.