poet

she told me with certainty that I was already a poet
that the day would not come in which it dawned upon me that I indeed was

it was not intended as a compliment
no more than noting the weather had shifted

almost mumbling, she added that rules in poetry are like ducks with paper clips

her words put an image in my head
just as sometimes mine remind you of an emotion

i am a poet and have been for years

it’s not a question

sometimes we need permission from strange sources

and sometimes little scribbles on a page translate viscerally into ideas

language is both for the meticulous user and the abuser

there is no deed or title for expression

i am both failure and success

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