Not The Best Poet

There are times

my own poetry

offends me.

It makes me

face my ignorance

of form or being

so boring ink

rejects it.

I write my therapy 

into stanzas wondering

if I need a therapist

or an audience.

It is bold to admit

I’m a poet when

I know I will hear rejection,

the dull “oh”, and closed

hands when I offer a book.

Should I stop writing,

perhaps,

but I doubt it.

If I were thirsty, I wouldn’t stop 

drinking water just because

I couldn’t find the right glass. 

©Susie Clevenger 2025

NaPoWriMo  Day 19