The Best Poet

I’m the best poet.

I step to the mic and

I’ve already lost.

I’ve been high all week.

I’m hungry and broke.

In my backseat, I have

a strange collection

of books and music,

souvenir panties and

a black tambourine.

The phone rings

almost every day.

Yes, I’m the best poet.

My mother’s still crying.

My father still hates me.

I owe everyone money and

I’ve no place to go, but

somehow

I convinced myself

that I’m much, much better than you.

The future holds me down.

It keeps me here,

paralyzed in this everlasting moment,

not doing anything.

I don’t need anyone but

this black cat on my lap.

I’ve got love and magic.

I’m the best poet.

I step to the mic,

my eyes red with joy.

I’m dying

right

now.

Copyright Tim D.

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