poetry is like a tree -

if you took all the metaphors

and gave them to me

i’d have them strung up on the clothesline

by half a quarter to 3.

 

this is not to say i’m The poet -

not all poetic devices are metaphors -

but i feel quite comfy

like an albatross egg in a nest

with lesbian parents - (they exist!)

what do you think?

 

this is to say that like a tree

the words branch out from me

for i am the center

of all that sprouts from my body (or brain).

 

 

e.g.:

 

am i LG..

BT? maybe.

does it slip through my writings

like my //college app essay// about noticing

cleavage --

but it was really about

demystifying horrifying sexualizations on tv --

as in

why did that producer or costume designer

choose

to bring it gleaming by

rule of thirds

to attention on the screen?

 

raised eyebrows, at me

my English teacher, questioningly

..

whoopee.

 

press start, please (the green button)

for onset panic and Anxiety

because

she is a Lit teacher -

not as in AAVE but as in lit-era-ture -

ok, proceed. (my mind says to me)

you may now begin to scream.

 

(because why wouldn’t she

be able to read

BETWEEN

((oh my god i think i’m gay))

THE

((taking every opportunity to express without giving it away?))

LINES?)

 

Alliterations of

Albatrosses aim to carry me

from their nest with nitpicky maneuverings

into the green, growing TREE of Connections and Community

where i belong

--not this stuffy classroom

where panicked-Me is panickedly doing Things

not conducive to my being Free

..though the poetry readings do please me.

 

but not to say i am the Tree

it’s not that poetry needs me -

why would it -

but that I! need poetry.

 

so you see, that’s why

i aim to be

a poet-tree.

 

after all

all a poet needs to do

to be free

is to poet-

try.