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She Called Me a Poet

Response to a GIF prompt and a question from Daniel:
What 3 things should a literary artist understand?


RIP Nispey Hussle

via GIPHY

She called me a poet
To what do I owe this
Because when I speak other’s notice?
That my verbs stray to word play?
That I’ve recited what you’ve heard me say?
That when my pen and pad are in separate rooms
I feel a sense of doom
As if a sentence soon
Will be sent that I’m meant to remember
And I’ll never get the message I’m intended to?
Is it that my mind is rent in two?
That I speak in dreams
Saying secret things
And still seek to bring
Without surcease a string
of lyrical meaning
as clear as a shriek that sings?

No, these don’t make a poet
They are evidence that I dabble in words
Or that I babble absurd
But not why I am what I am

A poet isn’t made by words
By definition, words are made by the poet
Meaning that my essence lies in precedence
To the premise that I pen my pensiveness
Something pushes me over the precipice

Three factors remain preeminent

one

I produce my art for art sake
Lyricism is simply the way that I breathe breath
Metaphor the way I seek sense
Publishing the way I cheat death
I write or else I keep tense
You see, poetry is just what happens
When I’m left around paper
My fingerprints when my fingers print

Poet, you must write for the art

two

I present my art for heart sake
God gives gifts to be re-gifted
I must write so your soul will be lifted
I bend meaning to make the way you see shifted
I open rifts with words riding perfect fifths asking the question maybe if
It is not for me, nor from me, but through me
Poetry is my compassion, meant to be heard
Create for your audience

Poet, you must write for the heart

And finally

three

I produce my art for …
For-saking the label
For-giving the critique
For-going the recognition
Fore-stalling the question
What’s my for-mal title
Or my for-mer career
Because these “for”s make it forced

Poet, you mustn’t write for the part

To be a poet isn’t to fulfill a role but to fill a hole
To feel whole
No one can name your art
Or genre
Be authentic

She called me a poet
And I never needed her to
I was always what I am