i dare not call myself a poet
i do blush at thee suggestion
It has been said it is a title only knighted
i could not agree with that truth anymore
i share my writing with my father now
Previously we spoke two, three times a month
We now speak three, four times a week
This has been my most prestigious writing accomplishment
He said i could be a famous writer
I laughed!
The gesture did make me smile ear to ear
One of those smiles that hurt
One of those smiles you can still feel
days, weeks, months, years later
He says he loves my storie's
i think maybe he just loves me
i am content with either
He now writes
He shares them with me

i reflect on my work time and again
i realize most are full of angst
This is okay!
This is the stuff i need to rip from myself
The love, the inspiration
i hold on to that with all my strength
i do pass out bits and pieces
to folks i bump into everyday
 

We are all breathing, thinking, eating, drinking, screwing,
loving, hating, dying lights of prose
There is not enough
ink, trees, presses, megabytes or time
to encapsulate you, i, he or she
Be it 10,000 writes, or 10
There is an infinite of you unwritten
Those can be the best writes i believe

i read and write everyday now
It is a never ending grapple
it will only intensify
i'm falling in love
It is the best kind of love