I will never be a famous poet

I accept that now

My metaphors aren’t deep enough

I don’t look at flowers and call them lilies

Probably because lilies don’t grow where I come from

I don’t see snow and ponder the drops

Then again

I don’t see much snow

Down here

I don’t have a doctorate

Or masters

Or a bachelors for that matter

And no one is interested in giving me an honorary degree

I don’t fit the mold

Of a famous poet laureate

I’m not Black enough to start a revolution

I’m not oppressed enough to really care

I’d much rather watch Def Poetry

Than read WB Yeats

And that doesn’t bode well at all

I would take Poe over Frost any day

Even though I hate the Raven

And Poe’s ego trip afterwards

I do believe in his right to have an ego

Cause years after overdosing on opium

We’re still reading his pseudo psychotic

Tales of dead men’s hearts thumping in the night

Although I wish he had buried that man

Anywhere but the floor

Because maybe then

He wouldn’t have been reminded to feel guilty

Still, it was a good story

It just said way too much about Poe

And maybe that’s what scares me

I don’t need more people walking around in my head


©2005 Dew

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