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 fa├žade

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