i still don't consider myself a poet

no matter how many words that fall from the sky that aid me in meshing the feelings i feel

can protect me from the world

opinions will still eat away at my mind

and leave me with too many questions

so i continue to cling onto the pain  and hold it closely beside my pen

I don't feel like a poet

searching for pointless thoughts that come and go

they watch as i spill my guts out 

and yet they still don't care that it comes from my heart

I know I'm not a poet

because I still break when i try to talk to you

it should be easy to show you how i feel

it happens within all the ink on my walls

everything flows exactly how it should

the disconnect between my mind and lips 

is my imperfectly perfect disaster 

a tidal wave surging throughout my body

that im guilty of opening my wall to