Unarmed Poet

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

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

Crooked smile

Hyena laugh

Salty tears and a broken heart.

But never assume I won’t fight back

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