I am neither poet
Nor writer
Nor artist
And I will protest
With broken breath
Until the day I die
Because the words on the pages
Of the masters - all ink and tea
They were the ones who taught me
I am not alone
That I am all skin and organs
Holding in a thousand-million stories
But, I am not a poet
I am not sublime or dark
Or different
I park my car like everyone
I pick at scabs
and I sleep in late
I am not a poet
And, really, that's okay.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
I am neither poet
Nor writer
Nor artist
And I will protest
With broken breath
Until the day I die
Because the words on the pages
Of the masters - all ink and tea
They were the ones who taught me
I am not alone
That I am all skin and organs
Holding in a thousand-million stories
But, I am not a poet
I am not sublime or dark
Or different
I park my car like everyone
I pick at scabs
and I sleep in late
I am not a poet
And, really, that's okay.
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