What is a poet?

Is it a writer who rhymes
in perfect time

Or a person who captures a moment
like a sunset with a crisp breeze to calm the humidity
with streaks of a cool yellow, and a dimmed down orange
light pinks and wispy clouds
in the dimming light

But what is a poet?

Without a pen and paper to capture their words
or a mouth to speak them
or a mind to think them

What is a poet?

without a life
without a story
without love or misery
without pain
without smiles

Is it a tortured soul or a happy idiot?

No, a poet is a poet.
With a mind to think and a soul to speak.

it’s 2 am
we’re sitting in your car, squeezing in the front seat.
you’re holding me in your big arms
you look at me, wild eyed and restless and whisper,
“i love you. and i don’t want to lose you.”
so i looked away and fought back my tears
i held your hand, but then quickly let go.
“but you don’t intend on keeping me either. do you?”
and to that you had no response

so we continued to lay there in silence
because i know you don’t love me.
or maybe you do, and maybe it’s just in a way that i don’t understand.
we always hurt the ones that we love
so maybe you just love me too much.
i can’t wake up in the morning without you on my mind.
it troubles me to think that we might not be meant for each other.
or this entire time you are just a dream.
if you are, how could my mind ever create a creature so beautiful?
a human so perfect.

you come to me with every unbalanced emotion
but i know if i ever show up at your door,
wild eyed and restless,
you will not show me sympathy or let me in.
you will tell me to go home.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

the moon hangs over my head
illuminating all of the black clouds
that are forever looming above me

and I wish that for one night
I could sleep easy
without the nightmares of you

laying down my fragile bones
and wrapping my mind in daisy chains
I hope that maybe this will purify my mind

and so I whispered upon the brightest stars
that I could forget you forever and always
and with that I bid the moon goodnight, hoping to sleep easy

In second grade,
My mom made me wear dresses everyday.
My mom would part my hair down the middle and make two long braids with colorful hair ties.
I would go to school and the boys would make fun of my dresses.
The boy that sat behind me would pull my braids anytime I said something smart.

In fourth grade,
I told my mom I could dress myself, but she still had to approve of every outfit.
I told my mom I was old enough to style my own hair.
I would go to school and the boys would make fun of my weight instead of my clothes.
The boy that sat behind me would sit next to me and call me names for being the stupid one in smart classes.

In seventh grade,
I told my mom that I didn't care what she thought.
I cut my long hair shoulder length.
I started wearing dark makeup.
The boys didn't make fun of my weight but they would ask me out as a joke.
The boy that sat behind me and then next to me, liked me and texted me every night saying how pretty I was.

In the ninth grade,
My mom wasn't awake to see what I wore to school.
I regretted the very day I decided to cut my hair.
The boys that called me fat; left me alone because they found someone bigger to pick on.
The boy that sat behind me asked me for a naked picture and I said no.
He called me a fat, ugly, ***** and never talked to me again.

In the tenth grade,
My mom borrowed my clothes and I borrowed hers.
My hair fell out but I wanted it to grow.
Boys no longer call me fat because they never saw me eat.
And the boy that sat behind me wanted me back.
I cried myself to sleep and hid my wrists in my sleeve.

It's funny how many things changed since the second grade.

*-c.a.