Once upon a time

I decided I'd design the universe

Make the stars dance according to my whims

Fry the sun in butter until

It was as golden as I wanted it to be


                            My universe lasted for a while.

Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?

but you see -
she has
a tendency
to be silent
when it gets
real loud
inside her head.