I used to be
a
poet
colouring the page
spitting star studded images
reaching my cold hands out
entwining them with your soul
every word
made up
for what I could not draw
or sing
or create
or see
now who am I?
another poet
swimming in this murky grey water
with thousands of others
swimming about
in everyone's tangled words

and I'm a sort of poet
whose poems
don't even have a proper end---