You want some robot “poetry voice” to come out of me
Knowing about things like stanzas and haiku
How can she, like, not know haiku and call herself a poet?!
But I can only write using This voice
And that fake shit don’t fly here
Maybe it’s Real to you –
“shimmering lakes” and clichéd-a-million-ways-to-say autumn leaves –
and that’s ok
But Real to me is just…
being free enough to be me
To let out my truth
Imperfectly
This is my poetry.
This is my art.
This is my voice.
You can reject it for its lack of “poetry-ness”
Or say anything you wish, really
I’ll just float along with the smile I feel forming on the inside
Because, well…
I don’t write for you.
ariaphoenix 