If you ask me
Who I am
I will tell you who
I be...
Before sex
Before color
Before complex
Theology... I be
Simply this
A Poet.
A poet, I say
Designed
And molded from
The Creator’s
Clay,
To feel
And process
To write and
Manifest
To say
And narrate
This makeshift
Reality.
A Poet
With pen inclined to
Scribe
My truth
A poet
With lips poised
To spit
Soliloquies of
Beautifulness and
Ugliness, too...
You ask me
Who I be
And I will tell you:
A poet
And simply this.
No heroic
Posturing of
A stoic
Human being-ness...
But so divinely
Human
It’s hurts
Sometimes.
Just to exist.
God-designed
To see
With eyes
Wide...
To whisper
To scream
To cry
To bitch
To unleash
This makeshift
Vulnerability
See...
It lives in me
In you
In us...
It crouches
It folds
It bends
It thrusts
It speaks
It lusts
It hollers
And sometimes it
Weeps...
It bounds
It leaps beyond
The surface
And goes down
Soul-deep.
Ask me who
I be... and I will
Tell you
Proudly,
I be this
Complex
Carbohydrate
Of tears
And screams,
Fire and
Energy...
No more
And no less than
Simply this:
A Poet!
One.
