I Am a Poet

I Am a Poet

by M. Allshouse

I am a poet

speaking in lived-in metaphors

and rarely used words,

ornamental adjectives

and unnecessary blurbs.

See, when I try to say

I miss you,

what comes out is—

I am a home without a family,

and therefore,

I am just a house.

I do not know how to bullet-point the ache,

shave off the edges that convey my grief.

Because when I want to say—

this... hurts,

what I end up saying is—

You shattered me

like a porcelain teacup

clumsily knocked off the edge

by the maid.

But it’s okay—

she swept away the evidence.

Go on with your day.

Maybe I have never been direct.

Maybe it’s not even because I’m a poet—

it could just be how I stitch up my cuts

and try not to bleed.

And sometimes—

only sometimes—

I just want to say...

I love you,

but what ends up pouring out

is a wave of adoration

that feels more like cascading waters

you might surely drown in.

And that’s why

I’m still learning to say—

because there’s no metaphor—

I’m simply,

okay.