I am a poet
she says
and a thousand poets smile with her
You cannot say that
he says
and her smile vanishes with his
Her heart questions him
why not
Why can I not speak of who I am
His words remind her
why not
Poets don't know what or who they are
But then who could say
I am
If to be is also not to know
That's not what I said
he thinks
You don't understand what I'm saying
But I think I do
You said
I can not say who I know I am
I'd rather you not
is all
You're just really conceited sometimes
She feels all alone
I thought
you were being philosophical
Don't be mad at me
he sighs
I didn't mean to hurt your feelings
I never said that
I was
angry or that my feelings were hurt
It's so obvious
that I've
offended you and your poetry
Her mind wanders off
crickets
I do not know what poetry is
You're being absurd
Poems
The rhyme or measure of written word
I am just kidding
I know
I was being philosophical
You are a smart ass
You think
you know everything all the time
Why would you say that
she asks
I was just trying to be funny
He lightens the mood
I know
You're about to start your period
What did you just say
I said you're about to start your period
Am I hearing you
You are this way right before you start
You kind of lose it
She asks
so I lose it right before I start
Usually yes
I'm just
saying you're being sensitive
Let me get this straight
Listen
No I really want to understand
Don't be difficult
I'm not
I am just being realistic
So me being a
poet
is somehow not a reality
Oh get over it
she looks
away and wonders about true love
He takes her picture
She speaks
I don't know what else to do or say
I'm just being me
I know
So you know when I am being me
I am exhausted
Really
Because I was about to say the
same but then it
would mean
that I wasn't exhausted at all
Can we start over
I mean
it's obvious I can't win this fight
She touches her face
Okay
We are both wrong I am a poem
1 comment:
I love. I love words and beauty and diction and measure. I love the idea of understanding things in perfect order. I order perfect understanding of the idea in things. Sometimes I am meticulous. Most of the time I am completely superfluous. And every once in a great while...we are all perfect.
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