Today I wasn’t feeling like a poet
Today I didn’t feel good enough to be called one
Today I wrote about death
Today I wrote about death and hated what I saw so I hid the words.
I hid the words and let them die
I wonder how many of us will ever feel ready to die
How many will be taken by surprise
Today I did not feel like a poet
I watched the clock tick by and thought
I thought about how I never have anything interesting to say
I thought about how the sun was getting hotter on the horizon
I thought about Chex mix,
Two dollars worth of recycled bottles
How I hate looking in the mirror
The taste of zucchini bread
The foreboding burn of chlorine in my eyes
How I never have anyone to come home to
How the light hits a tree after rain
Whether it is safe to go outside
The rash on my wrist from a nickel bracelet.
The realization that if I ever got arrested I’d be screwed
The feel of blankets against my bare legs and the dim glow of a candle in the parlor.
I did not feel like a poet today.
I could not find my words
I could not find the words to describe this
This feeling that life is moving too fast
This feeling that I’m moving too slow
And no matter how hard you push
No matter how hard they try to convince me,
I cannot be bothered to run
I could not describe how deeply I love you
How desperately I want you to pick me
And how afraid I am that people change
And that I don’t want you to.
But what is a poet if they cannot find their words?
I’m an unarmed poet
A vulnerable civilian
A fearless rebellion
The taste of blood
Bruised knuckles and broken thumb
I am an unarmed poet
Salty tears and a broken heart.
But never assume I won’t fight back