“I’ve been called a poet
twice.
I winced both times.
I’m not.
I’m not as clever as Arnold.
Nor as ambiguous as Shelley.
I’d rather talk through
than around.
I’ve been called a poet
twice.
I entered two contest
in one semester
and lost twice because
I didn’t hold true to
tradition,
but neither did they.
I’ve been called a poet twice.
But there is no mystery here,
no metaphors, no pretty words
and that’s not poetic.
But I’ve been called a poet twice.
I’d rather be called honest.
Which counts for nothing poetically if not hidden.
I guess that’s not how poetry works.
Accepted poetry that is.
Regarded poetry.
Award winning poetry.
Sorry Brother Langston.
Sorry Mother Angelou.
I was called a poet twice,
but I never gave a shit about how it was supposed to be done.
I just went with how it made me feel
hoping they would feel the same or ask themselves why they didn’t?
I’ve been called a poet twice.
No.
No.”