I'm a poet

I'm a poet

I’m a poet.
I take words and place them, delicately, harshly, as gravy, as garnish,
Onto a page, a text, a document,
And call it art. Maybe it is, who am I to say?
But all I do is say, things, thoughts, stuff, and much more,
And then I take some and I place them, calmly, vehemently, as soup, as spices,
Into some words I find worthy to convey them, or not
Into some lines I spend time trying to make rhyme, or not
Into a theme I deem consistent and fitting, or not
And then off it’s sent, for the world to see - or not.

I’m a poet.
I write, a little, a lot, flooded with words or in droughts of thoughts,
I write, for myself, mostly, for others, at times,
On dreamy nights, in midday shine,
In majestic moments, and inopportune times,
Mostly the latter - the dark invites the muses divine.

I’m a poet.
I say a lot but know not what it means, I’m quite ignorant of meanings, what does it even mean
To be a poet?
I act like it means, like my poems act like they mean, something,
I say it like it’s my identity, to be under this little-meaning label, making little-meaning verses,
To be in this box that’s been drawn, which I adjust to make me fit,
But then, I do say a lot. Things, thoughts, stuff.

I’m a poet.
I try to use language as more than just to speak,
I weave, from words a text which has more meaning than speaking could seek to reach,
And yet speaks, to you and to me and to thoughts I can’t meet,
I do not know if it means nearly as much as I want it to mean,
But I strive to give meaning, I make it mean.
So I know not what being a poet means,
But maybe someday, I’ll make it mean, and make my poems mean, something.