How do I become a poet? Anyone? Damn! You see I am trying to hard to learn the skills That needs to be learned to successfully write poetry But poetry, poetry is as confusing at the clitoris… And believe me I work at it all the time But maybe its just something you get or you don’t get You hit, or you don’t hit You see my fathers a poet Maybe you have heard of him…Joshua Williams? No...Well…he always tried to get me to reach inside To stop the world with my mind and let it unwind On the page…is what he used to say But when I wrote poetry is was always this drivel …like Rhythm poetry that went no where…that talked about puppies and flowers My father hated shit like that. But me and my father had nothing in common, huh So I used poetry to lay a foundation for a relationship My father was entered in this one word poetry contest called one and them some Someone would write a list of words and then when you went up there they flipped a word over and you just spoke! On the spot…off the cuff… whatever you had in hear… It was away of getting the intense emotions that you would never want others to see then out You see b/c when your on the spot, you don’t think about what’s coming out, you just spout… And that’s when your real soul comes out…is what my father used to say… Now my father was very good at it….his tongue and lips would a set in motion a sythphony of words that would make Beethoven cry… My father thinking that poetry was also a gene, passed down into our family, try as hard as he could to get me to spout out my inner soul… before bottling it up again…because you need to bottle as a poet…you bottle and then open it to make some awesome poetry… That’s why you never hear of poets in therapy…b/c if someone was working out there problems…then they would make a living And that also why some poets so crazy…they bottle to much…and the words and thoughts that saturate there mind…often becomes a poison that starts to eat at them from the inside That’s what happened with my dad The man never displayed emotion…in fact I don’t think I ever saw him cry… Even when the doctors told him he at a tumor that would take his life… He response was…”This is good…hmm…gotta pen boy?” My dad always told me that I would never be a good poet Because I displayed emotion When my mom died when I was 9 His response was… “Stop crying…use your mother…she would have wanted it that way” I guess I shared to much emotion before I even picked up a pen When he died, I think he would have been proud of me Because I didn’t cry…at all Instead I went home picked up a pen at started writing…but it was shit And I decided that one of my life goals was to become a poet… I have a feeling that it will come to me one day… SO, if you know how to be a poet...please let me know… Or help me… Because when I pass, no one will cry…and I would like to be able to get to heaven And show my dad that even though he may be Beethoven I want to be Mozart