I believe sometimes that I was born for poetry
When my mind is riddled with memories I cannot hold on to longer than sand in the palm
I believe I am born for words on the tongue
Not good words necessarily
Not a great poet
But a poet in the way of words for every situation
Metaphors for a dream
Hate spoken for the hatred
Love told for the lover
Words for the sake of words
A poet by birthright
A pretentious child by luck or curse
A word to the wise
Do not think yourself a poet
Lest you forget the prose planned for a daydream or a crisis or a life
Do not think yourself a poet
For if one is always writing
The best words may be forgotten
I already have
I already have forgotten them
This poem fallen half from my fingers
Unfinished
On the tip of my tongue
Born a word-user
Born a poet
This all will do for now
The next poem comes