A Poet
I seldom ask for things for myself,
selfless.
I forget about the things I must do,
dreamer.
I often think of her each day,
lover.
I plan for the evenings with her,
schemer.
I play with words every single day,
poet.
I read and critique, those others write,
reviewer.
I make mistakes like everyone else,
human.
I choose to make my own way,
doer.
Many are these
and many are not.
But, who would really know it?
If we can only be honest
in the things that we write,
then all must be a poet.
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