What does it take to make poetry?
Don’t tell me its just words and emotions-
because we all have thoughts and feelings,
but so few are willing to call themselves “poet.”
I mean, what kind of fortitude and audacity
does it take to splay out your stuff like that
and not call it a journal or a to do list or a prayer?
To say “This is my poetry.”
To be willing to peel back your skin and
press your hand past those stinging layers of flesh
and dig in even further until you carefully cradle
your own thumping heart in your hand for everyone to see,
enervated by the pure daringness of the act
yet chilled by the reality that if you squeeze too hard
you will certainly end it all, right here?
Now, I’m not sure I have what that takes,
but I admire so those who do, so I will keep showing up
and standing or sitting or snapping my fingers
near them until I figure it out.