byMaria KellyPoets are like magicians
that pull verses out of the air
like bouquets, each one as lovely
and fragrant as a flower
Poets are like mothers
in labor to deliver inky black lines;
their twitching hands
like wombs, birthing rhymes.
Poets are both teachers
and students of life;
their subjects are love and loss
and sorrow and joy and strife.
Poets are like oysters
and their poems are like pearls;
the words they hold in their souls
change not themselves, but the world.
They are all these things, and more,
though they may not know it.
You can be whatever you like, but for me:
I think I’ll be a poet.