Easing into it

I’ve been pretty vague about the illicit in my life. Vague adds a certain amount of mystery and drama in prose that is not necessarily there in reality. I was ready to be un-vague in this post, but I’ve forgotten how to structure a blog post. Instead, I’m posting a poem–because that is not vague at all.

I’ll be back. What do you think? Could I pass off as a poet?

Sir

I am not a poet

I do not camouflage

Clichés; I do not mould

Abstractions from the remnants

Of the Parthenon’s empty facade

I am not vague like you.

Your lines are art

Open for interpretation

They mean something to everyone.

I am not a whore like you.  

My crushes are not poetry

They do not apply to all.

And my couplets, Sir

will never rhyme

For your comfort

I am not a coward like you.

My words are not

Sealed in a frosted bottle

I do not allude or imply;

I am not a veiled woman.

And I’m unlike the simile you think I am

My lips are not scars to trace

My body is not a map

And your love is not my final destination

Your analogy of me is wrong—

You should edit it.