poet

here is the other thing i wrote...also wanting to read it...let me know...

i tell people i am a writer

it sounds solid like i produce things

things of substance

i WRITE things

novels

stories

things that take up some space

i call myself a poet under my breath

a whispered word in the corners

poets are frivolous

stringing flowery sentiments

with verbosity

simile

metaphor

hyperbole

what i want to scream is

that poetry

is a metaphor

the only way i know

to put my guts on display

to harvest the deepest parts of myself

and beg to be seen

there are no characters

in my poems

just me scraped raw

see me here

covered in these words

like bandages

i am pouring myself

out onto paper

with no regard for sentence structure

and oxford commas

i want vocative commas

and my throat tight

around words

i am scared to speak

i want words pouring

from my mouth

in pulsing rhythms

like the vein i

just tapped to spray

myself in red

on the wall

i am not sitting in room

full of people in black

high-necked shirts

waiting for them to snap

their fingers in some

hipster mating call of

approval

i am here

to pull out my mess

and translate it

into a stanza

for you

i am not here to call myself a writer

i am here to

bleed my life onto paper

to build a rescue

ladder of words

to save myself

and my beating

open heart

from a world bent

on its destruction

counting on its silence

i am a poet because

anything else is

a lie my skin cannot bare

i whisper the word poet

because

it is me

and all the bleeding words

i can scream

won’t save me

if that one goes

unsaid

fluid by nature

So this is the thing i wrote...tell me what you all think...i think i'd like to do this one at the reading at western but want some feedback first...

not the wishy washy

sloshing in a bucket

back and forth

kind of fluid

not the indecisive

ebb and flow

that always leaves

 the shore in doubt

of the wave’s intention

no

the crashing on the beach

pulled by the moon

taking a thousand years

to change the shape of a stone

sort of fluid

tears rushing down cheeks

crashing onto pillows

take your breath away

cold splash in the face

warm wash away

your sins of a day

kind of fluid

dripping thick rain forest leaves

 lush places

discovered

opened

coursing rivers

brought by lust

and a firm hand

kind of fluid

i am fluid by nature

wet and watery

but never watered down

briny and rich

depth of flavor

that plays salty tricks on your tongue

momentarily quenching a thirst

but leaving your mouth wanting

rushing smooth like silk

over rocks

twisting the turns of phrase

the water of life

pouring

crashing

diving for the depths

of meaning

for the rain of words

tapping against the

windowpane of my mind

until the torrent rushes

pouring past my lips

falling with pounding ferocity

hurricane force rains

of my tears

and my phrases

deep blue pool held back

held back behind the dyke

with a hole in it and

only a finger

to stop it up

never enough

and more fingers just bring on

the flood

i am fluid by nature

thick slow and sticky

viscous like honey

sweet and hard to wash off

pooling golden

in the curves of you

making your fingers

leave prints on glass

sometimes i don’t move quickly

but i always move

flow over

push out the cork and

fill the long stemmed glass

with gold and bubbles

bursting my words

on the palate

i flow like water

like wine

like honey

like oyster broth

like the sea

like tears

like hot blood

like a trickle

like a flood

i am fluid by nature