Am I a Poet?

Am I a poet?

How could that be?

For when my mouth opens

I wish I could sow it.

The words that I say don't say what I will

They sputter and spill out my flimsy bill.

Of technique I know nothing

And my spelling's not something.

Sure, I can rhyme. . .from time to time.

Perhaps, does that a poet make me?

Maybe.

I paint with the brush and the world seems devine!

I paint with the pen and it's not so fine.

I labor to write what my head holds so tight.

I try and try

Only to cry and cry

That the words on my page don't measure up tall,

But are really just

nothing

at

all.

This poem is about: 
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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