my Poems are not about me
if I were sunshine
my poetry shines brighter
if I were thunder
my poetry rumbles louder
if I were rain
my poetry weaves into thin films of gossamer
and glistens around my edges
my Poems are not about me
when I write
I separate a sparkly heartstring
from the rest
thread it carefully into my needle
and hurry to weave a story embroidered with colored confetti
and shimmering sequins
before the glitter
like snow
drifts
and sticks
to the remainder
of my dull
honest
heart.
in the words of my high school English teacher, "Don't mistake the poet for the speaker of his poem!"