ALWAYS THE POET, I don’t want to be a poem

I have power at my fingertips, Hands that scratch lyrics on paper. A story I once knew - Now it’s just art. Rhythms. Twists. Stanzas, words - Cut and placed with care. The poet is me - simple, complex. Layers, knots -untold. Pieces of who I am, what I represent. Each word a fragment. Some shared, others buried. I say too much, Then veil it behind smoke and shadows. I don’t want to be a poem. I’ve been silent too long, Moulded for others - A statue with cracks too deep to fill. But my story? It’s mine. Words take shape in my hands, Soft as wax, fierce as flames. You can praise me. Despise me. Think I’m broken, Or the answer - your angel in disguise. But don’t lock me down. I’m fluid. I shift. Not always good. Not always bad. I’ve disappointed enough. But still, I breathe fire. Still, I let the ink drip, Every word a piece of my spine. Look closer, if you dare.