what kind of goddamn poet am i anyway

by mickharris

i mean i think i want to be a writer



one of those people, you know the kind

that float through walls and 

slide into cracks

like paper-thin cartoon pages

rubbed grimy with kid fingers

the ones that nothing seems to touch

and yet they make this beautiful word soup

that steals your fucking breath


i think i want to be someone who puts images in your heads

who takes you to places

you didn’t know you had 

inside of you


i think so

but what i write, it’s all about the avoidance of writing

the anxiety around writing

the rage of not writing

the pinpricks and push pull of words struggling to get out

or burrow deeper in gentle flesh fissures

fired way too far by neurons

little weird slingshot bastards

for me to ever get back


to me that is boring but it is a shape of a poetry

i think i can manage

i am not a poet right now who can make you smell lilacs on fresh ocean breezes

or stretch you burning through loss

i can’t even really take your hand

so i apologize in advance

but i can walk with you in whatever doubts you have

i can say that out loud maybe

so you don’t have to