Am I A Poet
A concept I can’t seem to grasp,
as these words flow onto this canvas.
A craft I fell into as time elapse,
but has become my world escape by chance.
But to be able to use “that” title,
to be able to “walk” in that circle.
A question most consider futile,
but few value it’s worth...
Am I A Real Poet?
Do I deserve that same respect,
when all I ever do is reflect
on my thoughts that infect
my psyche’s intellect...
desperately trying to keep in check
feelings trying to eject
themselves in this world...
A lame’s story unfurls.
Am I A Real Poet?
Compared to works I’ve read,
my words are shallow in their pool.
A pool as deep as the ocean bed,
and me belonging would make me a fool.
The deep words of legends,
elaborate concepts expressed.
How can I ever contend?
When these mediocre lines could never impress,
only make them start to detest
as I start to think less...
Am I A Real Poet?
Maybe I am, maybe not,
but for now this is what I do.
Not for a chance to earn a spot,
amongst legends of such a creative crew.
But for a chance to,
connect to others who feel as I do,
or might be going through
similar situations felt by few.
Or to prevent some from walking in these shoes,
while at the same time telling you
the story of someone so uncool...
So Am I A Real Poet?
Someone once actually told me I was their favorite poet, but I feel as though I've heard and read way better works than my own that would question if I really can be considered a poet next to those works...well what do you think, let me know...Respect.
