“The Unpoem”

wwwdisabilityartsonlineorguk

I am not a poem.
Oh no.
Most certainly not.

Why would I be
a poem – pray –
if I could be
a song?

Why would I be
a poem – tell –
if poems can
go wrong?

I am not a poem.
Oh no.
Most certainly not.

Who likes poems –
pray tell –
save the poet?

I’d much rather be
a paragraph
which scientists discuss.

Or – perchance –
a book of law
(or just a clause
if I must).

But a poem?
Useless jumble
of words.
And all the poets cheat
anyway.

The one who wrote me –
periodically – takes
a paragraph and breaks
it into
pieces
and calls it
poetry.

I don’t want to be a poem.
They say it’s an art
full of meaning
and rhyme
and syllable counts,
but really?

Look at me.

They say the readers –
and critics – read
the poem over
and over again,
but do they?

They say that the poem
reveals souls
and secrets,
that it somehow
breaches prose.
But does it?

I don’t want to be a poem.
There is no glory
in broken words,
is there?

What can broken words do –
pray tell –
that whole ones cannot?

Pray tell.

Written February 2013, Emma Dumitra.
Image from www.disabilityartsonline.org.uk.

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