blather
raised_a_poet
pushpins mom, you raised a poet
and she wasn't fit for the job.
poets have precise words
that sum up sentences
in a singular insanity.
poets have slender fingers
and slender wrists
and dainty fragile frames
that potent emotion
echo within.
I am not that neat poet
whose words are solitary and satisfying.
I do not have that wisp of a body
whose presence is forgotten
(because physical elements are so easily lost).
My words spill out messily
in a heap and jumble
of broken sentences.
my body is thick with confusion
and stained black cloth.
my face is animated and
my features contour what my insides
want to speak.
my mom raised a poet
with an awkward disposition
and an out of place beat. 		020325
...
misstree mom, you raised a poet
my words spill out thick and bountiful
like water drenching the garden,
growing beautiful, lush flowers.
the dirt of the world is under my nails,
and you taught me how to smile
when i found worms.
you taught me to be thick and strong and resilient
like the trees you taught me to climb,
and you taught me that wispy girls
don't bounce when they fall-they break.
you taught me how to be real,
how a german build survives the bitter cold,
how to see what is real
and spin it even more beautiful.
mom, you raised a poet,
watered me, nurtured me,
toughened me and encouraged me,
and i could never thank you enough. 		020325
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. . 050123
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