I don’t think I’m a poet,
Not even the hopeful ‘she will get there type‘
Where people can read my work
And have a reason to spread the hype.
I can’t imagine seeing my name
At the bottom of a post
Or imagine there’d be comments
That would give me a reason to boast.
I can’t see myself on a stage
Speaking out something of my own
Without seeing two or three faces,
Glancing down at their phone
I can’t envision writing a piece
That could start a revolution
Or even a rebellion
Or lesser still, a little agitation
I can’t imagine speaking to hearts
In the way that love songs do
I don’t think they would be moved
Regardless of what I have been through.
And yet many a day, I find
I am unwittingly lost in thought
Trying to say what I want to say
In a rhythmic kind of way
For example, this poem.