I told you so
He asked me to write a poem.
He said he missed my poetry.
A part of me smiled —
“Am I a poet?”
A part of me searched
for the sarcasm hiding behind his words.
But still, the little pride in me
wanted to write one,
just to show him.
What could I write?
The trees?
The longing?
The rain?
The bees?
I searched for a clue —
how to make it rhyme
at the end of every line,
like poets seem to do every time.
Similes, metaphors, music in words —
they make us wander
between their lines.
I thought and thought,
but words would not arrive.
I smiled and realised —
perhaps I am not a poet.
The part of me that was happy
quietly sat down.
The part of me that doubted
folded its arms and whispered,
“I told you so.”
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