i’m waiting to read a poem
eh…I think i’m not a poet.
give it a little try.
walk through the practice,
ok. you hooked me:
Just waiting to be alive
I am not ready for anything to happen
all you needed was the prompt
who else inspired?
the essence of mary oliver
but mostly yeats and
i want to be
as pure and unassuming
as mary oliver.
mary is my girl: she’s always my muse.
i love the sounds words make—
the way words move in poetry
the way it hits my ears like music.
it works itself out
just trust the poem
to say what it wants.
you are a natural!
poetry makes me feel pretentious.
i need to get past that.
if I’m a pest, tell me to back off.
you’re not a pest.
you’re saving my life.
can i brag?
it’s like i discovered
a new limb on my body.
what’s your email? i want to send it to you.
you’ll have to tell me if i’ve messed it up.
i tinker too much.
writing your own fairy tale. so i did.
i wanted to say fuck in my poem often. but i didn’t.
it’s baggage from my upbringing. but
the fact you can’t use the little fucker is someone else’s baggage.
i opted to leave.
i wasn’t as brave as you–my new hero.
bravo to those who are privileged enough
to get it perfectly the first go round. indeed.
See “The Messenger Project” for some context on these odd entries.