I am not a poet
I know nothing of meter
Or rhythm or form
Or rhyme,
I have never written a
Sonnet I wouldn’t know
where to begin, or end,
I tried to write a haiku once as
the winter snow blew
cutting through my light jacket
I ached for summer,
But counting syllables, and writing,
seem so contrary
stifling my voice,
I write as I live
carefree and reckless,
letting whoever wishes
to see through my eyes
hear through my ears
feel how I feel,
so in that moment
my world can be theirs.
