Today I’m a Poet

Yesterday I was a dreamer

I sat my head in the clouds

And there it lay the whole day

I dreamt big

Impossible

Unrealistic things

Until I had half convinced myself they were real

I was a dreamer

Tomorrow I shall be a wisher

I’ll sit in my window

And wait until a star winks at me

So I can wish upon it

I’ll rub all my lamps

Until a genie appears

And hope that every stone I pick up

Is Sylvester’s

I’ll be a wisher

If yesterday I was a dreamer

And tomorrow I’ll be a wisher

Today I’m a poet

Warm by the fire

Spinning tales of gold, tales untold

I’ll treasure my pen

And cherish my notebook

And toss all grammar aside

For today I’m a poet

Not a dreamer nor wisher

Nor pretender nor liar

Today I’m a poet

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My Love of Rainy Days

The rain pours down

So little

But so loud

The sound

Demands your attention

The flash

Of white hot energy

Makes you look

How can water

Not even alive

Be so powerful

Do so much

It gives you this feeling

Of isolation

So alone

In such a big world

So lost

But it also

Inspires

Millions of water droplets

Collide

And something

So powerful

Occurs

If water

Not even capable of feeling,

Emotion

Sensing

Can be so powerful

Just imagine

What you can do

I Am

I am

What am I?

I am                 .

Fill in the blank.

Noun

Adjective

Verb ending in “ing”

I am not

So simple

As to fit

Into a Mad Libs game

Mad?

Yes.

Mad Libs?

No.

I am                 .

Fill in the blank.

I am        complex        .

I am        different       .

I am       me     .

Beautiful

You can hit me

Shove me

Knock me down

But even with bruises and cuts

I will always be

Beautiful

You can shake my confidence

Steal my pride

Hurt my feelings

But even with tears in my eyes

I will always be

Beautiful

You can spread rumors

Make up stories

Have everyone on your side

But even though I am alone

I will always be

Beautiful

You can be mean

Insulting

A bully

But there is one thing you do not know

I will always be

Beautiful

Inside and out

Fire

They were just words

But

It felt like someone

Had struck a match in my throat

Just a little scrape

But the tiny flickering flame

Fueled by my unsteady breaths

Quickly grew

Spreading across my cheeks

Scorching, scalding, smoking, sizzling

It engulfed my eyeballs

Pushing out every inch of moisture in them

Eyes on fire

And they burn from all the tears

Blazing across my forehead

All logical thoughts

Down in flames

Timber!

My feelings caught fire

It slowly consumed them

Oh, how my feelings hurt

Reduced to ashes

Until nothing made sense anymore

Just red

Fiery, hot red

Drowning in red

When You Write with Sharpie on Paper

You know how

When you write on paper with Sharpie

Sometimes

It bleeds through

Onto the next page?

And then

Then next page is covered in useless

Scribbles

Marks

That you can read –

Sort of –

If you look really hard

But why bother

When you can flip back

To the first page

And see everything you wrote

Crystal clear?

Sometimes I feel like that paper

With

Faint

Useless

Impressions

Scribbles

If you try hard,

You can read me

But no one ever does

– Try hard, that is

Nope.

I end up

Crumpled up

Thrown away

Or

Just ignored

You know how

When you write with Sharpie on paper

And it bleeds through

Onto the next page

Sometimes I feel like that page

Behind you

There to catch what you can’t hold onto

How To Be A Poet

Being a poet is not an easy task.

You must be very careful

If you want to get the right words.

You must lure them out

With a kind and soothing voice

And when they come out

Slowly, cautiously

Reach out your hand,

Careful, they bite!

Pick them up,

And place them in the poem.

Sometimes the word isn’t right

It snarls and hisses

Making all the other words

Shrink in fear

Or run off the page

 If so, quickly

 Take the word

Out.

Poems are very delicate things.

One wrong word and –

– Bam! –

A mess on paper.

That’s why

We have erasers

And backspace keys.

You must have patience to be a poet

Sometimes

The word won’t come

You can plead

And beg

And yell

And cry

And bite your lip in frustration all you want.

But sometimes

The word

Is nowhere to be found.

To be a poet

You must be thoughtful.

Every now and then

 Words get lonely

And they stand out

Awkwardly on the page

Because they feel like they don’t belong.

Sometimes

A word just needs a friend.

A poet has to be

Confident

And slightly bossy

Because words are not naturally obedient.

They have minds of their own

And often won’t do

What they’re told.

You have to be commanding

But kind

Firm

But understanding.

But there is one thing above all

That a poet must be,

Must have,

Must do.

In fact

Without this

You could hardly call yourself a poet.

A poet

Must

Love

Words.