I Can

I am a poet. I can re-write truths with my Mont Blanc pen and still Not be called a liar. Like a child I can speak, Comply to my will, Cut off details and facts That I deny. I can do that without being asked why. Snip snap. Snip snap. Even if my baby Leaves me or deceives me, He knows we’ll be Together again In my sonnet. He knows that because I am a poet. I can replay what happened Way back then, In my glittery solitude And personal den. I can always say What I mean, And not necessarily Mean what I say. You see. Just because I am a poet, That doesn’t mean that I am Gloomy, Melancholy, Gothic or even Bitter. I just choose to see what my Eyelids have been endeavoring to Hide… With falling eyelashes of refusal and Dilating pupils of fear. I perceive what others don’t because, I am a poet. Do you get that my dear?