Not a poet

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

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