am I a poet?

or is it an avocation

to fill the empty spaces of the soul

Is it not a soulful activity

where we dig and plunder every

emotion buried inside

Am I a follower to anguish?

Or is the pain holding me with

chains to the ground.

Am i a lover?

or is it the hollow disguise

of love which fills the soul

with plastic each day

am i a living being?

or is it my skeleton pretending

to smile with the humans

people touch my shoulder and

say you’re not alone

am i alone

or is the isolation fictitious like they scold

am i a failure!

or is it part of a journey to success?

i may not have answers but

one settles permanently

poetry is a coping mechanism…

but STOP the poem…!

Am I a poet?


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