Don’t you call me a poet,
Not yet,
Call me one when my words,
Stir up your soul,
And lift your spirit,
My words are not that potent,
Not yet
Call me a poet,
when my poems age like wine,
When they seem truer,
As you and I grow older,
I have never written something like it,
Not yet,
Or I’ll tell you myself,
When i know that I’ve written one,
When the words will start,
To come from untapped depths,
Like dreams,
Like forgotten memories,
When I could cry while writing sad poems,
And burst with joy while writing happy ones,
Until then, don’t you call me a poet,
I’ve not become one,
Not yet
theinvertedpoetry 