I’ve Never Allowed Myself to Only Be a Poet Because I’ve Always Felt That Wasn’t Enough

I wonder if there’s a difference between a poet and a writer.They speak of the poet’s heart, but what do they mean?There are times when prose feels so stilted to me,When I crave the fluidity of line breaks,The freedom to not be understood fully,The convention to break convention,The magic of diving underwaterTo retrieve a poemContinue reading “I’ve Never Allowed Myself to Only Be a Poet Because I’ve Always Felt That Wasn’t Enough”

S-Hooks on the Baker’s Rack

You hang s-hooks on the baker’s rackOne after the other, quick quick,Before running out the doorWith another bag packed.I look at the hooks rocking in placeAnd want to see them as a sign that you’ll stay,But of course, the message I know is comingArrives on my phone a few days later.You’re moving out.Once again, I’llContinue reading “S-Hooks on the Baker’s Rack”