self aware

I can’t get behind
poems
that know they are
poems.

when word meets sound
or stop means go
all just to sound like a poem,
I want to gag and scream
to the one who wrote it:

yes, yes, you are good with a pen.
we know.

good ideas are snobs, you know.
the pure ones, I mean.

they waltz in nice rooms and
scoff at cliché.

it takes a poet,
a good one,
to make them stop and
look into the glass that shows their flaws.

to humble them.

to make them soft and real and
above all else unassuming.