THOUGHTS OF A POET IN THE RAIN

I’m  a story teller. Yes. That is what I love to do. Tell stories. And to hell with English composition for sentence structure with a verb here, noun there, adjectives and adverbs all doing their parts to keep it nice and neat. But sometimes we need disorder in order for complex issues to be sorted out and the knots untied. My poetry comes from my heart but it is a story, friends, a story. I tell stories. God, I am so abysmally irritated with comments such as: you are definitely a tortured soul. I want to shout that I am like Popeye the Sailor: I am who I am.

Dammit.

I’m a writer, or a least I try.

I’m a poet. Okay, maybe I’m not because I break rules and do it my way. I sense the form and the emotion and I do it my way because I feel it that way. And I don’t view my writing as dark or morose. My writing is what it is, not confessional nor an attempt to self psychoanalyze.

I am what I am, a story teller.