Bared Teeth

A poem about worth.

When you ask why my poetry is worth writing

I'll always answer, baring my teeth, 

it's worth the breath that it takes to make it

just because it is

mine

my poetry is a lens behind my eyes

showing the way I see my footsteps 

treading on dirt roads and tracing dust on hardwood stairs 

I can't quite show you my trail of dragged footprints

but the verse of my life

still as a limerick 

reflects across the labyrinth of paths taken

before I took my first breath in stained and sickly air

the words fading into the torn parchment of my mind

might be only a string of thin elegance in a web of 

virtue and life

yet there is nothing like words to capture the knotted ties of 

a gritted tapestry

the same tapestry 

my eyes flit across when watching sunsets and fading winter skies

staining the woven art 

ink jumps from my fingertips when

exclaiming in beauty at the colors that streak across the horizons

burning and brilliant

fading from scarlet to jade to

golden fog as my breath curls in front of me

on biting winter nights

it's clouding 

my view of my world, my troubles vast, but my life crushingly minuscule

my words cannot fill an ocean

nor the cracks in my dusty globe sitting on a desk

I don't remember buying

yet none of that makes my verses not worth writing

because my words are not holy water they're more like eyes

not eyes of an angel but mine

my eyes

as they're looking through the stained glass of a chapel

and the salt on tear stained windows

my pen strokes trace out my tangled thoughts

to curve words from my laughter

the songs of my joy shouted from rooftops

to pull parts of myself that are hidden

and close the gaps between the expanses of my storm brewed mind

tangled in the webs of my notebooks

are words still hidden and yet begging to be read

because to read my poetry is to know me

and to know me is to see all the beauty I cannot force myself to pass by

from overlooking bridges

and from the tapestry of mahogany coffee shops

and the sovereign elegance that the ocean's strikes in my mastered soul

my poetry is worth more than my weight in gold

because it is my life

my life of criss-crossing lights bleeding through the gaps in leaves edges

of every breath I've ever taken

whether it's foggy or golden or awed

my writing is more precious than any metal you can think of

every word is inlaid with more beauty than silver and more luster than gold

so baring my teeth I will tell you

that my poetry is worthwhile 

just because 

it is mine

Author's Note

Ignore all punctuation rules.

Reviews

[eaglefeather]

This is really powerful display of how poetry is a look into the poets life that they shared with you. This is amazing.

[Casey Truax]

Almost a Ginsberg's "Howl" feeling to this. Impressive.

[Zoe Richardson]

An excellent effort! If you streamlined this, edited some of the extraneous words, it could be a masterpiece.