As a poet
You would think
I would live my life
A bit more
Poetically

Instead of
Crashing
And
Burning
With every move I make
Causing natural disasters
Every time
My feet make contact with the soil

You would think
That when I become intertwined
With another human being
Bells would chime
And doves would take flight
Instead of the ashes that form
Right under my fingertips
As the skin begins
To disintegrate
Crumbling to death
Under my touch

You would think
I walk on clouds
And view life
Solely as a metaphor
For beauty and love

You would think
I fall in love
With the buds sprouting
And the fawns grazing in the sunlight

You would think
I embody the poetry
Formed by my lips
And live by the words I preach
Instead of being
Such a cynical hypocrite

You would think a poet
Would be more in touch
With the beauty in life
Since we are so in touch
With our emotions

Instead I sulk in the corners
Capturing spider webs
And finding beauty in that
Perhaps I have made a connection
With the wrong emotions
How unfortunate.