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I am cynical
I am lost
I tie anchors to my feet
and complain when I drown
I am clingy, corrupt
I need so many people
yet I push them away
when they get too close
I am broken
I am scarred
I build my walls
and I tear them down
I'm lonely, tired, sad
I am a mess.
Make sense of me?
A way of life (you say you you are not a poet)


A way of life.

A not uncommon phrase.

But still, an *uncommon
concept.

What is our *'way'
of life?

What is my way of life?

Beyond the supposed-to-do,
Which is a way, pre-charted for you
By others, how does one live
Above and beyond, the day to day?

You say you are not a poet.
I say way.
I say you have chosen a life,
Where words are jewels, choices,
Public choices, to be very praised,
Kicked or worse,
Ignored.

That is a choice. Test is:
I have a way,
Of speaking in my voice,
Saying what I need to say.

I have chosen the way of a poet,
For better or worse.

Don't tell me you are not a poet!
You are out there, to be read.
Courage is not lacking.

You have a way of life.
It is distinguished,
It is dangerous.
Only the brave
Dare come this way.
Craft can be learned,
Courage, never.
Why do some of you deny being a poet?

Poetry is courage, not craft.

It's 1:00 am. It took me all night and five minutes to write this.
All night to conceive, five minutes to compose, and a lifetime to learn to have the courage to post it.
The craft will come, if the courage is steadfast.
Stumbled in
mind & soul
I had no idea
that night would
would lead
to shattered scene**

#micropoetry
You and I
We have a rocky relationship
Which of us is the sediment,
Settling?
I don’t want to settle
But I want to settle down some day

Blazing sunset
Nobody rides off into
Write this off
As an exemption
Handcuffed to the radiator
Left me in the living room
But after that night
I called it the dying room
That’s what it felt like,
Anyway

You took too long to get ready
Took literature too literally
Happily after what we went through
Happily comes after never
Gonna happen
You swear we were gonna happen
But the plot twist never came
No resolution and
No ******
Just a crisis
Always crises
Jesus Christ
Why are you crying?
Dry your eyes
There’s not time now
For confession
Say I’m sorry
And move on

Love comes in waves
In movements
Like light it is particles too
Fill the air
Seen and unseen
Scientific but more inexplicable
Then your childhood religion

In wanting to hold you
I held on too tightly to
An image of you
That was never really you
I saw it vanish before my mind
Could comprehend the fact
That you were fiction
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