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.