Poets sit down and write

they don't think about it

they just spill their hearts and souls

I, however, am unable to do that.

I sit here and type.

Unable to produce anything but meaningless words.

I cry over failure;

I sob over incompetence;

I weep over my losses;

Poets don't do that.

Do they?

Or am I just at a misunderstanding of the infamous writers I've had the pleasure of knowing?