I’m not a %*%ing poet

I’m not a poet

Listen up

I’m not a broken TV

Listen UP

I’m bout to get up and leave this life

I’m bout to crawl into my throat,

I can’t see, I can’t breathe

You canceled my words

You canceled my voice

Yet here I am

Like a fake poet

Makin’ a stupid racket, and some noise

You keep deleting me

You keep fixing my static

But the static is my music

You keep fixing my flawed review of dialectics.

I’m not a poet

I’m not a fucking dream

that you can burst like a balloon

And drain out like puss,

Like I’m some malignant ooze.

I’m a TV

I’m a old box

I need you to sort out my ears and fix the connections

I am not a poet

I’m not a box.

I’m not a box you can pick up

And place here or there,

I’m not a poet,

I’m not sure I’m even aware

That each of my stories are being deleted

Delivered in the trash

Because I’m not a fuckin’ poet

It was only good if it stacked up cash.

Don’t forget your writing is in my wallet,

Don’t forget your order is billed,

Don’t forget that you are not

A real

Fuckin’ anything

Not a bad poet either,

Just a static box of a TV,

Playing on loop

Playing the deleted series of my

Bruised, wordy gash.

I’m

Such a stupid question

Being asked everyday

Because it has no answer

I’m bound to fade away.

I’m not your writing puppet

I’m not your buffet

Of words and verbs and synonyms

And verbose Macramé.

Hey

Listen!

I’m stuck here in this box,

Lemme out!

I’m here trapped

My eyes shut like an expensive

Pretty mask

I can’t see you

But you see me

Hiding, and I’m telling you

I’m not a poet, you’re right

I’m not sure I’m anyone or anything at all.

But, I’m not your little puppet,

I’ll paint, I’m not a fucking poet

Across your big white wall.