I learned a few things from writing poetry.

I learned that I could denote these “things” in a fairly uniform fashion

and that those “things” could be read like a long forgotten shopping list

I may have learned from writing poetry

that snowballs are cold, that a single phrase can maim and kill

that songs and paintings have more in common with each other

than either one with a poem

i may have learned that the most eloquently described imagery

will be shunned and derided over a misspelling

that dreams do not belong to dreamers

that love does not belong to lovers

that the heart only beats because the brain tells it to

And that the brain can’t tell the heart to keep pulsating

if the heart won’t send it’s blood

poetry might have taught me that words

spoken with the deepest sincerity would be lucky

to mean absolutely nothing

if not followed by consistent action

and that the most nonsensical and random collection

of sounds can be percieved as a threat

or as arrogance, or as lust, or as compassion, or as confusion

poetry taught me that language itself is a symbol

and that symbols are things you can learn more about through language

poetry taught me the difference between sunrise and sunset

between blood and chocolate syrup

(which tastes delicious) 

and after all the things that poetry has taught me

I learned that poetry knows nothing about me