Ode To Poetry

I would like to start out by stating that I hate poetry
I hate the subjective nature
The search for meaning
The invariable air of desperate artist and loathsome wordsmith
The very word poet conjures up
The way the cosmos and the heavens have become cliché
Anything that can mutate the wondrous and inexplicable into
A thing of triteness and cliche is evil by very nature of that transformation
and so, I hate poetry.
But my love affair with Poetry is complex
because poetry is action and life and energy and wonder at the sheer intrinsic beauty in our world.
Sometimes its anger and hatred and prejudice and rape and the removal of the shiny façade over the rotting core of human existence.
It sings the glories and reveals the lows, all at once.
It’s why I do what I do
why I am what I am
It shaped me and changed me without once laying a hand on anything but my heart
save once to open my eyes.
I am a non conforming conformist with a soul that burns like fire
I live for those instances that catch your breath and make you close your eyes
and wonder
I tell complete strangers to remember to look up because I’m scared they’ll forget to look at the stars and I don’t care if its cliche
and i believe that children are walking paradoxes
with lives that are too mysterious for us to understand
ours are filled with too many anecdotes and stories
that are not nessessarily interesting
but they serve to fill an awkward void
I’m a crescendo and the white noise is building and building until I’m going to explode in one anticlimactic end
the world covered in white and grey snow
that will be my mark on the world.
Poetry snuck up on me. I didn’t expect to fall in love with empty space and timing and rhythm and wordplay.
Poetry was dry and stale and flowery
and boring.
I am not ashamed to admit that I thought poetry was pretentious until I was 15
which I know is ironic because I hate ignorance.
I also can’t do math.
But then suddenly it was real and true and open and honest
and everything that I couldn’t be.
Poetry became therapy and discovery and feelings and thoughts and magic and challenges and frustrations and everything.
Suddenly I could be a poet.
I wanted to be a poet.
I started drinking coffee not because i liked the taste but because I liked the way it changed color.
I needed my pen and paper and every night was spent scribbling horrible awful terrible poems that
I thought made me the next great American poet
Then I’d wake up the next morning and bang my head at the utter crap I’d come up with.
Keep a line, lose a page—
that’s how it works you see like making a film
only there isn’t any script or camera
just the power of your voice in the infinite blackness
reaching out to create a spark
lighting the forgotten movie house screens of your imagination
shifting the dust and sending it like diamonds into the beams of
clicking projector light to hang there
which is why I always look up because I think that kind of thing is beautiful
I understood the power, but I did not think I was entirely worthy
I was cautious and careful and oh, did I want to succeed.
Poetry is what happened when my mind stopped swirling and cleared to create coherent verbal music
Part of poetry is knowing when to shut up.
Or know not to write anything at all.
Leaving space, open white  empty space so as to create a certain feeling or echo of what has been spoken.
speak to me for a minute and I’ll tell you a story
speak to my hear and I’ll tell you my story
my hopes and dreams and fears and eccentricities
with nothing but a couple of wigs and a smile
i will change your life
maybe not for the better
but oh will you be changed
or maybe you’ll forget about me
its been done before
just a face in the crowd underneath a bad haircut
nothing too remarkable
I’ve always been bad at the listening part I’d rather talk forever then pause for a moment of reflection
because I don’t know if I’d like what I see.
Poetry as revelation.
As inspiration
see poetry is me

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