Thought I was a dreamer

Until I met The Poet

And he twisted my fears into nightmares
And slipped them into metaphors
And formed them into words
He made me read my daydreams
In chalk lines on the asphalt
Then he melted into prose and slithered his way
Into the bottom of my wine glass
Into the black of my eyelids
 
Thought I was a princess
Until I met The Poet
But he fashioned me a crown of his rhymes
And cut my soul with his pen
That he wielded like a sword
When he bent my soul into verses
And painted them on the tapestry of my kingdom
And destroyed my knights
With his armor of paper littered with my being
And the dragon fire of his sonnets
 
Thought I was a poet
Until I met The Poet
Who silenced my stanzas with his veil of haikus
And lifted my heart with his ode to beautiful disasters
He held my hands as I wrote
And clucked at my feeble attempt
Then he wrote a ballad about my weakness
And made me fall in love with my imperfections
And when he kissed me with lyrical lips, I knew
I never existed without his work




The Poet