Sometimes my life as a poet is fruitful…
Bursting with new ideas
Loud and colorful like fireworks on paper,
Fruit in season,
Flowers in bloom.
Other times my life as a poet is dry and barren
The thought of expression hurts.
The words rub together like sandpaper
Being smoothed out and predictable
Instead of unique, glorious, and alive.
Between those times come experiences…
Uncontrollable laughter, tears.
But writing, yes writing,
Brings me back to poetry and its variety…
My life as a poet is good.