“this is just a poem”

a whole Friday afternoon 

that I spent all alone 

put myself in a drought

poured my heart out

staining the blank page

alone, standing on the stage—

I built in my head, it was ice cold

but it melted with every word

Every coma, every full stop 

rain of thoughts, drop by drop

how I tried to master my craft 

wasting paper with each draft

some might think it’s strange 

they wouldn’t see the change 

but I do, and I know—

what my baby was like before 

she is all i cherish and adore 

I remember her first name

for me, she is not a game

how short and small she used to be

even then, in her was a part of me

they don’t know what story she first told

from where we started, she’s gotten so old

 

I feared introducing her to people 

I know we wouldn’t remain so peaceful 

I knew they will never love her like i do

that she’d only be could cared for by a few

no other being but her was on my mind

I was sure no flaw in her any could find

I knew she wouldn’t disappoint 

but some at her did point,

to say she’s not art that’s fine

but to claim she is not mine

a knife in my back is better 

it wouldn’t make me this bitter

to harm the child of my soul

doubting her, making me a fool

can’t they see she’s all like me

where without me would she be?