Sep 16

I Am Not

the lake makes a soft noise,
like one of a non-committal alarm,
not quite loud enough to stir me from 
dreaming. 
or from my nightmares. 
the water somehow strikes me as lonely. 
like every time a wave touches the feet of a child
on it’s beach—
it is trying to make a friend. 
and what they doesn’t understand is 
that 

i am not a hero,

i don’t rescue cats from trees,

or chase after the bad guys. 

i am not a hero. 

i am not optimistic

or hopeful,

i don’t pray for tomorrow to be better

or for the world to change. 

i am not optimistic. 

I am not a poet. 

i don’t write looping words 

on a page

or rhyme every line,

i don’t scrawl out letters 

to save the minds of those 

who stumble across my 

stanzas. 

i am not a poet.

I am guessing. 

writing what’s in my mind-

trying to find my way, out. 

i am human,

riddled with wild and unbridled 

mistakes and miss-measures. 

i am trying and i am true 

and i am not you 

and i am a human. 

and now you are gone. 

just a memeory faded into dirt,

lonely like the lake. 
About the Author: lila woodard
'But to make yourself feel nothing - so as not to feel anything - what a waste!' - Andre Aciman, Call Me By Your Name
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