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A Poet, Who Me?

Claiming to be a poet 

I see

Is daunting 

When we

Consider

That there are those

Who ply that trade

Who write themselves

Clear

Of noise

Of fog

Who share themselves

Boldly

From mountain

From gutter

I like a child

Emerging 

See

That 

All around

Are poets that inspire

In words 

that delight

The question 

shall be

When facing an never ending

Library of poems

Shall I put down my pen

To say

Not me

Or shall I too choose

To honor

Inside

To honor

This voice

As it spills out of me

Onto page after page

To dam it up

Cruel

Like my mother

Constipated

In pain

Knowing that

Only

In allowing

Will growth occur

From seed

To sprout

I rise 

From nothing to beauty

From below

To the sky above

Watch me soar

I am the poet

Of my life

I am the writer

Of my soul

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