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I'm One of Those Poets

by Britt Zimmerman

The wind is cold tonight
The kind of wind
that stings
And bites
at the skin
As it rushes around you

The sky is dark
Minus the the four Dancing spotlights...
Of some main event downtown
Where people are seeking
And wine
And art
And romance

And I hold myself tight
Bite my tongue a little
Trying to feel the breeze
And only the breeze

Take a break from the pain
That sits like a devil on my shoulder
Hoping that one day
My hell actually will freeze over
And my heart won't be so quick
To warm to another stranger

There is music playing
And I can hear it's muffled rhythm
As I walk down the street
And I try to match it
To my steps

Or To match it
To the pulse that's
Pushing the Blues
Through my veins

Artists are selling paintings
On the street
And the Coffee Shops
Are full of over-caffienated Poets
Comparing themselvesTo Bukowski Or Plath...

Or spitting out Spoken word
Like their souls cannot
Stand to house their metaphors for life
One more
God Damned Second

And I'm now biting my lip
Until it hurts
And my hands
Are numb
And the devil on my shoulder
Is screaming

And your arms keep her warm
And her lips
brush your cheek
And your eyes
Search deep
Into hers

and I want to confront you
Walk up and slap your face
And tell you
I'm not fine

That, in fact,
I'm one of those poets
The type that can't stand to house
Any of this
For one more

And the lights still dance In the sky
And the party continues
Like a cruel reminder
Of the sparks
That we once shared


Posted on 01/22/2015
Copyright © 2023 Britt Zimmerman

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 01/22/15 at 06:47 PM


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