The Poet

I am no philosopher.

I write pretty words

sometimes in random shapes, like this

to s h a k e i t u p –

and people who like them, like them like

dessert.

Serious scholars

with their criticisms and analyses

they are what matters –

because I obviously pull these words out of my 

A

S

S

.

The poet sleeps with strangers

to find who loves her the best.

Who likes me, who gets me, understands my fancies and pain –

and in the end

although you may taunt and belittle, and call me a whore –

at least, after all of this,

I am great in bed.