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Carla105Poems
Sometimes I forget Not everyone knows I'm a poet. That's okay because sometimes I forget too I forget the weight that words have on my chest I forget the feeling of my fingers moving freely across my keyboard A million thoughts clouding my mind until one materialises through written word I forget the freedom of writing I sometimes even forget the meaning of a poet. What is a poet? An artist? A lover? A fighter? A hater? A cynic? A critic? A human? Human. Poetry is art Humans create art Art makes us human It's funny how that works Because poetry is like a therapist Some will never set foot in their office Others will have scheduled appointments weekly Me? I forget Dr. Writing exists until my life turns to shards While I smell the daisies, she hears nothing of me While I break down in pieces, she is all I know Now I greet Dr. Writing as an old friend I greet her with open arms and open heart And yet sometimes I forget I am even a client of hers Today someone didn't know I was a poet And this shocked me I thought it was obvious I thought poetry was all I could speak of I thought poetry was all I could speak. And yet I was shocked Because up until I had been reminded I had forgotten that I was a poet.
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Aug 24, 2023
Aug 24, 2023 at 10:15 AM UTC
Forgotten Poet
Sometimes I forget Not everyone knows I'm a poet. That's okay because sometimes I forget too I forget the weight that words have on my chest I forget the feeling of my fingers moving freely across my keyboard A million thoughts clouding my mind until one materialises through written word I forget the freedom of writing I sometimes even forget the meaning of a poet. What is a poet? An artist? A lover? A fighter? A hater? A cynic? A critic? A human? Human. Poetry is art Humans create art Art makes us human It's funny how that works Because poetry is like a therapist Some will never set foot in their office Others will have scheduled appointments weekly Me? I forget Dr. Writing exists until my life turns to shards While I smell the daisies, she hears nothing of me While I break down in pieces, she is all I know Now I greet Dr. Writing as an old friend I greet her with open arms and open heart And yet sometimes I forget I am even a client of hers Today someone didn't know I was a poet And this shocked me I thought it was obvious I thought poetry was all I could speak of I thought poetry was all I could speak. And yet I was shocked Because up until I had been reminded I had forgotten that I was a poet.
Carla105
Written by
Carla105
19/F/Australia
Aug 24, 2023
Aug 24, 2023 at 10:15 AM UTC
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