The Product of a Poet

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A perfect playlist.
The spectrum of colors of a rainbow.
The beautiful sound of rain on the roof.
Waking up to birds singing outside.

All of these are things, yes,
but more so, they are experiences.
Merriam-Webster Online defines an experience
as a participation of events.

The warmth of good coffee on a cool morning.
An experience.
A participation of events.

I define an experience as an experience.
There is no other word for it.
I once was given the task of writing an essay
on an influential experience in my life.
It was then I came to the conclusion
there are no synonyms for this word.
I counted.
I used it fourteen times.

The frustration of failure.
The anger behind a heated argument that isn’t going anywhere.
Appreciating the beauty of a sunrise.
Emotions.
That we experience.

Free thinkers in political discussions.
Applebee’s appetizers at two in the morning.
Falling snowflakes landing on your tongue.
Events.

Multi-colored leaves covering the ground in autumn.
Multi-colored people finally choosing acceptance over hate.
Uncovering a love that results out of truth telling and open minds.
Seasons of life.

All of these experiences are
experienced.
Emotions, events, seasons of life,
but this is just the start.
These are only a few things that humans (said verb)

Poetry.
Merriam-Webster Online defines poetry
as the product of a poet.
Once again, I disagree.
A poem is the product of an experience.

Without experiences, what would there be to write about?
What would be the purpose?
Without emotion, writers would have nothing to write about.
Without events, poets would have nothing to inspire their poems.
And seasons? Forget the “of life” part, seasons are just magnificent.

The experiences written in this poem
are ones I have had,
ones I have loved
and loved enough to write about.

I don’t write to spread love or to change the world.
I don’t write so that other people can see my work.
I don’t write to get attention.
Most of the time.

I write because I have experiences I want to preserve.
I have events I want to share,
emotions I never want to forget,
and times in my life that will always be a part of my past.

I write because these experiences,
they add up. They are memories,
floating like ceramic tiles in my head,
but eventually, I’ll have to make room for more hand-painted tiles,
and the old ones will be lost.

Poetry is so that while I might not remember directly,
I can always recall through my writing
the senses, the feelings, the emotion,
the very rawness of it all,
Of everything I think is worth remembering,
everything worth reminiscing,
a smile spreading over my face as I finish the lines.

Finding exactly what you’ve been searching for.
Discovering love in the most unlikely place.
Persevering after what you thought was the last straw.
The lightning strikes, the music fades, the birds fly.
Every living thing dies.

A product of experience.

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