freshly sixteen
and attempting to be deep.
the mind of a poet
is self-appraising.
confidence falters
at the worst of times, crushed
sentences and nervous stutter
perpetuating the blush-
yet when she puts nose to paper
she inflates herself,
makes herself grander
than she could ever be [in public]
get the point across verbally,
using cliché as hyperbole
-more chatter, less grammar-
unintelligible.
poets are observers
not participators,
and by now- no longer fifteen-
she should know it.
–
written m22aug2011.
–
idiography 