First Draft

I’ve been writing
for many years, in fact
I’ve found myself far better
at the pen than
games of athletics, or
other dick measuring
competitions. A loner
since grade school
captivated by
my earliest memory
thereof, was in grade 3
so, whichever age that
equates to
my teacher, Mrs. Rowland,
I think her name was,
asked the class “What
would you like to be
when you grow up?” my
first thought was
Poet, though I withheld
this answer for fear
of persecution, and answered
something arbitrary instead
“Policeman.” besides, I thought,
they, too, wear
funny hats
since then I’ve learned
that my identity would be
named by action, and not
by that which I name
myself to be. Though,
the point of the exercise
was either to gauge
self-opinion, or to
set myself a goal to reach
misquoting Melville:
“were my chest a cannon,
I would have shot my heart
upon it”, and
perhaps I have, for I
forsook a life of
monetary stability and
instead sought
penury, and solitude, as
my true sanctuary
was ever purchased
in sacrifice.
This sounds far grander
than the truth,
but then, some secrets
are better kept
than given. Whatever
come what may, I know of no
other man to be, as do all
that follow such designs.
Bukowski said something
of the like, which I can’t
recall verbatim, though it
was modest in effect,
“I never thought myself a poet,
it was my audience
that decided this
for me.” an interesting thought
that one may extrapolate
for perspective’s sake
we are
what we do, or whom by choice
to become.

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.


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