How can you teach me Poetry
is your rhyme book more metaphorically mature
did your ink pour from the heavens like salt water to sweet scented lilies
does the time you spent tap dancing to life take away from my ballet of being
How can you teach me poetry when Poetry is the teacher itself
You like me…but a student
Sitting in the lecture hall of emotion
Listening to mother Teresa’s heartbeat through the stethoscope of empathy
Learning about one’s self as though it were a separate being
like the sun painting a self portrait on the canvas of tomorrow
I rise to write
I sleep to dream the words written, the message manifested
You cannot teach me how to breathe
you cannot teach me poetry,
except through poetry itself.
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