part 3 (of 3)
it's time I stepped out of this intellectual closet
and proudly declare
to parents
to friends
to apathetic ears
and the innumerable uninterested masses
I
am
a poet
I harbor a deep
and unnatural fondness for phonetics
and though
when inspired
it matters only to me
I have been so moved
as to become dizzy
eyes burning
hands shaking
with the urge to express
each of my individual selves
I'm sorry, indignant purists
but enlarged vocabulary
and the expansion of ideas
gets me hot
I have no heroes
just friends I've never met
we scribble secret love notes to the world
and hide them in the open spaces
between infotainment and self-help
societal (read: slow suicidal) structure
makes no sense here
and dreams, however well pinned down,
don't pay the bills
don't balance my chemistry
don't provide for nonexistent dependents
and the sum of lines
one through six
but we
-the poor and huddled masses-
do
feed that starving artist stereotype
so maybe
we'll just keep this little secret
between you
me
and the rest of the knowable universe