Poet First, Writer Second

I decided to share some poetry today.  I have, and will always, say that I am a poet first and a writer last.  Even from a young age when the teacher would give a creative writing assignment and we got to choose the medium, I always fell back on my poetry.  In rough, emotionally draining times, it has been poetry that has raised me up and refueled the muse.  There’s just something to freeing in the poetic form.

It’s tough to leak poetry into prose since so much of poetry tends to break almost every grammar rule, but I try to sneak it in.  It doesn’t always work, but when it does, it feels like I’ve written a piece of my soul into it.

So, here it is.  My poetry.

Grass as Tall as My Waist

The grass is as tall as my waist
Unwanted.  Dancing free in the breeze.
A twisting, rippling ocean
Reclaiming the field
Wild.  Untamed.  Elegant.
I am a blemish, in my human flesh
Clothed only in a tattered, stained soul
Where grass stretches upward
Whispering to each other in doses of wind

I stand.  Step.  Close my eyes.
Tickled by their faces
Caressed, as if I am one of them
Tossed in the air
Trampled into dirt
To grow again.  New.  Green. Strong.
Unwanted.  Dancing free in the breeze.

Where little things hide.  Safe.
And animals hunt to feed little things.
The grass still whispers.  Ripples.  Sways.
Stretching into the buzzing air.
Resilient and delicate in a single curve.
Plucked or stamped down.
A post for butterflies or hummingbirds.
Always as tall as my waist.
Unwanted.  Dancing free in the breeze.

I hear their stories, feel their pain.
I see their joy, taste their strength.
Covering the field
Like a watery tide
Consuming.
I whisper with them.
Am trampled with them.
I am
Unwanted.  Dancing free in the breeze.
As tall as my waist.
Reclaiming the field
To begin anew.

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