Proper Poet, Proper Prick

Am I a proper poet

Or a proper prick

Why can't I be both

_

Okay so I don't rhyme

Not much anyway

But that's no crime

_

I may not seem trad

I may seem quite

What's the word

_

Oh, obstinate

Difficult and

Contrarian

_

When people hear

I'm a poet

They expect not I

_

Not my sober

Sombre subversion

Addiction, depression

_

Where's the rain

Where's the sun

Who the fuck cares

_

I listened to St. Chroma

Again by the Creator

Tyler and as ever

_

Was inspired to

Pick up arms

Create a pushback

_

Call it art, call it poetry

Pulsating, rhythmical

The remedy we all need

_

To stave ourselves off

The bad news

And dying economy

_

It's not about a girl

The girl that, dare I say,

Rocks my world

_

There are plenty of

Rain dance celebrations

Poetic pole vaulting

_

Metaphorical medicating

And then the sky opened

Cracked before my eyes

_

And bioluminescence

Rained over me

Dancing, dripping

_

A canopy of watercolours

Stretched across the sky

Then the words come

_

Then the inflections and infections

Infiltrate and dominate

A friend offered a thought

_

A theory on the bulk of my writing:

"I’m beginning to think you may be a structuralism-dominant person

(nothing wrong with that, I definitely appreciate structuralism

and include it in my literary theory)."

_

I think she has a point

She would say she always does

But I think she really does

_

Often in my attempt

To tell a story

Or convey emotion or experience

_

Through prose poetry or fiction

I never make it easy on myself

I take apart the process

_

There is a finite number

Of plots and emotional arcs

No story or poem is truly original

_

So often when I don't want to follow

Tradition or the purest form

I will look at stripping it down

_

Rebuilding the story or poem

From the ground up

Altering the framework

_

To me the structural integrity

The way a piece is formed

Is just as important

_

As the characters, plot

And the scenery dressing

Everything

_

It's not a gimmick

I just don't want to waste

Time, energy, or brain power

_

On retreading everything

That has gone before me

And often done better

_

I can tell a tale

As good as anyone

But why settle

_

I adore literary greats

But why emulate

Why just do what has always been done

_

I love control

And restricting what readers

Know

_

So you tell me

Am I a proper poet and storyteller

Or just a proper prick

_

A hack who thinks he's a genius

Just because I fuck with tradition

And won't follow the rules

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: Been a bit. I don't know. But felt good to put this out there. Thanks to Harper, who gave me some encouragement in the comments section of my most recent story and whom is directly quoted in the poem. Inspiration also came from St. Chroma by the mighty Tyler, The Creator.