Six Letter Word

I didn’t look for it.

To me, it was that six letter word

That crawls and hides and stinks

And fills people’s heads with fake sentimentality

Which, alone, could fill the suitcases that I

Took from place to place.

No, I didn’t look for poetry

Though, if traveling from place to place,

At a five year pace,

With no one-- nothing but a suitcase--

Wasn’t some kind of poetry then

I don’t know what my life was.

Poetry found me, Stalked me,

Tackled me into submission.

Used my loneliness to fund a purpose,

And told me I wasn’t worthless

Because we aren’t just a sum of the people we know or knew

But a sum of what we do

And I made Poetry,

But more importantly

Poetry made me.