I don't want to hear another pretty poem
Paint another pretty picture
Colored with empty words merely meant to compliment, to agree
Still life, aesthetically perfect and vapid
The poem formed to fit the molded form that truly has no form
Empty space empty words
Empty beauty meaning nothing at all
Who are you to create empty words that demean the idea of words
For words are meant to mean more than words
What is the purpose of the poet
To confuse the audience or to speak them?
To open the dictionary
Or to open the mind?
Large words, impressive words, colorful words
But if they do not mean more than Webster meant them to mean
Who are you to call yourself poet?
When words are just heavy imposing trophies on your mantelpiece
Who are you to call yourself real?
When you do not even grasp the reality that you are creating, pen to paper, brush to canvas, life to art
Who are you to deny that you are colorblind?
When writing is just another way for you to see what you want to see.
Synonym, alliteration, simile
Should not be another way to hide your sightlessness
Perhaps I am blind too
But I'll tell you what I do see
I see the people taught to hide their complexity
Blur their sharp edges with words and concealer
As their lost voices shrill faintly beneath the surface
I see the girl who hides herself behind makeup
Concealed behind concealor
Lost forever behind the veil, the façade
I see a pretty picture of a pretty girl
Too bad her smile is vacant
Too bad her eyes are dull and empty
Too bad she isn't alive
What a pretty picture
If only she had knew who she was
So maybe for a minute I'll let myself see what I want to see
After letting the words carry me to places I never meant to be
Until I am the words
I am the words that refuse to lie flat on the paper
I am iridescence, possibility, humanity, reality
I am the voice of the poet that speaks the words that are more than just words
And means them
Unlimited, defiant, uninhibited, iridescent beauty divine