Confessions of a Poet
“Confessions of a Poet” is a follow-up to “Her Blood is Mine.” When I first started writing this poem, it was meant to be the last poem I ever wrote, an elegy to my life as a poet. A video of this poem being read aloud is available on the “Spoken Word” section of this website. Originally written in August of 2020.
Poetry
Is an attempt
To escape me.
Poetry is my drug.
It cures my
(What?)
(What does it cure?)
This was going to be
An elegy.
I thought
My days as a poet
Were over.
The more I write,
The more I know,
My life as a poet
Has just begun.
Poetry
Will be
The death of me.
Through poetry
I have awoken
Secrets,
Sinners
Inside of me.
I lie to myself
Until truth is not true,
And then in my poems,
I kill.
I am a monster,
Innocent and pure(ish).
I abuse poor Creativity,
And keep Inspiration on a leash
While Imagination runs wild.
I am a monster,
And these are my pets—
I mean workers.
This business is corrupt,
I do not write poems
That is done by my workers,
I only take credit.
I am a murderer,
Violent and disturbed.
I birthed her through poetry,
And she came
To life.
I wrote up
A knife.
I stand in the kitchen,
She died in my kitchen.
The knife in my hand,
She fell—
(To the ground?)
Through the paper
(Thin walls?)
Of my notebook.
Through poetry,
I have been
Reborn.
Poetry gave me
A beginning,
And poetry will be
My end.
-Graphite Everything
