Am I every poet?
Where every idea is not groundbreaking nor artful,
it’s not intellectual nor heartbreaking nor scholarly,
it’s just mine.
Isn't that gorgeous?
Where when I look at something like a tree,
I do not see its shiny, emerald leaves,
or its winding, story-telling roots.
I see a piece of nature, just a tree.
The tree is not dressed for elegance,
this is not a poem's debutante ball.
I write of the tree's structure and its face value.
One could call that selfish,
but I find it to be tender.
Does every poet search for the secrets of the world?
Do they always have a sob story or an intricate life?
Or do they relish in the most boring of things?
Does every poet look at something like a brick,
and see into the cracks and crevices,
the struggling ants and pitiful weeds,
or is the brick just another step in their path?
Am I every poet?
Where I don’t exercise eloquent stanzas,
and there is no colorful imagery,
it’s just a way to get my thoughts out of my brain.
Does every poet mirror this methodology,
or is there always an underlying message,
one that requires whole lectures to be formed on analyzing it?
I can assure you,
no class is needed to grasp the thoughts I put down.
No analysis is needed to understand what I want to say,
for the things I convey stem from the most mundane of thoughts.
I look at the ground and I write prose about the grass,
I look at the sky and write rhymes about the clouds,
but I do not search for how the grass or clouds feel.
It’s not my second nature to dig deeper,
it’s not even my third.
Am I every poet?
Where I am comfortable that my thoughts are not intense,
that they are not detailed or profound?
Am I every poet?
Where I was not born with instincts for extensive thoughts,
but rather for acceptance of the humdrum, the so-called,
“uninteresting.”
If every poet is comfortable in their own mind,
regardless of the wisdom within it,
then I suppose I am.
I am every poet.
I am the poet that writes frivolously,
that embraces simplicity.
I am the poet that does not dig deeper,
but finds beauty in the surface.
Sunshine reflects off of water's surface,
creating the most beautiful images,
and my pen moves the same way.
The images I write are insignificant,
yet they are mine,
and they are beautiful.
I am every poet.
