I used to talk about poetry.
Now I just write it.
I used to talk about it,
quote little snippets,
would they pick up on my genius?
...see what I did there,
my crickets?

I used to send poems
to friends that got me,
or needed them.
But the beauty I found in
fitting their lives to mine
was less
an exercise in type.

I used to be approached
by readers with kind words,
and open hearts, poets themselves.

I am poached these days.

I used to be a poet,
to blank stares
and shifting glances
steeped in shame,
I toppled like a tower.