Truth Is Poetry
Lonely Is What I Am
By: Craig A. M. Goines
A poet I chose to be, or did it pick me. Now I stand out from the rest. As if I wore a scarlet letter upon my chest.
From a distance I watch, he plays music for his friends while people socialize behind him. Another table off to the side sits quietly eating. And me? I sit alone.
They don’t understand why I write or why I am the way I am. To understand poets lead a lonely life. I can be surrounded by hundreds but still on my own I’m constantly in my poetic zone.
People talk but I don’t hear them, they’re there but I don’t see. I’m in that place where poets go. So I tend to be alone. I see stories and poetry everywhere I go.
I wish sometimes, that I wasn’t alone, but I’m a poet. I think that’s where I belong.
I’m in love with beauty, the words on this page. I’m in love with someone, but apart we are. I’m depressed but happy. I tend to be places I’m not. I see what at times are hard to explain. Being lonely tends to drive me insane, or so you say.
I can live without people but not without you. To me, my words are everything while it’s just another poem to you.
I smile and grin, while tears run down my face. Invisible to you and so real to me. My tears I call my poetry.
When you cry I write. When you talk I think. You sleep and dream, my mind is blank.
Lonely is what I am, A Poet.
