Impatiently sitting on the bench ahead
Cup stares at me as if wanting to be fed
So I grab Cup and find a boiling kettle
Fill Cup with water hoping it will settle
But Cup begins to steam and nag
So I search the cupboard for a tea bag
Choosing one from the others, I quickly drop it in
The water changing colours, makes me throw it in the bin
I think the dark stuff is something bad
And Cup seems to look pretty sad
So I try to swallow the black stuff away
But my method seems to make Cup dismay
Before I begin, something hot hurts my lip
I didn’t realise that Cup could nip
So I hurry towards the kitchen sink
Tip Cup upside down, before I can think
Cup throws up, being upside down
I forgot Cup got sick when moved around
So I put Cup back where he was
I can see that Cup feels better because
Cup is no longer steaming or spewing any more
Come to think of it, I don’t know why I touched Cup at all!

The dripping echoes throughout the house
I am a broken faucet that screams
The water thrashes against the metal sink like a thunderstorm
Do not fix me
Do not call a plumber
I want to be heard

A lone wooden boat floating out in the sea
The waves crashing down from every side
Nothing to lose, there is no more of me
From the onslaught of water I've nowhere to hide

Finding a harbor, the ultimate dream
It never was meant for this one to pass
Flashes of the end I can already gleam
By the elements beaten, nature's hard to surpass

Raging against the current with one final try
Beaten back yet again by the winds of despair
Accepting my fate, getting ready to die
Wondering in my mind if fate could be repaired

Final thoughts spared for those still on the sea
The dark abyss opens with jaws of cold steel
Living to consume noise means nothing to me
Everything was transient, nothing was real

I’m barely keeping my head above water

Other people
Made it look so easy
To backstroke through their days
With nothing to worry about
Except pruny fingertips
And what swimsuit to wear

It looked easy

Only after I jumped in
Did I realize that
I wasn’t born to swim
I wasn’t born with the ability to float
I wasn’t born with the talent to tread

Maybe I’m just dense

With a brain full of blanks
And a stomach full of stones
I’m guaranteed lungs full of liquid
To drag me down
To make every moment a living hell

I was born to sink

I often think of quitting
Letting the ocean consume me
Swallow me whole
As the waves seem to be
The only things
That ever wanted me

I’m barely keeping my head below water.

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you write down a word?
When do you let yourself know it?
When you are finaly heard?

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you get a like or a love?
When do you show it?
When your confident, sort of?

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you get a sunshine?
When do you let other people know it?
When you reach a headline?

When do you call yourself a poet?
When you are published?
When do you flaunt it?
When you are considered established?

No.

You know when to call yourself a poet.

When your hands are always moving
When your writing about even the kitchen sink
When your mind is always turning
When the white becomes stained with ink.