Fuck National Poetry Month
I’ve never understood
National Poetry Writing Month.
Seems to me
if you need a prompt
to be in touch with
what you’re feeling,
you’re not a poet.
A poet is someone who
has things inside
that have to come out, and all
a real poet needs
is a mutilated heart,
screaming soul, and
bottle of whiskey,
prompts be damned.
Caffeinated Lies
Caffeine lies to me,
alcohol lies to me,
hope and love lie to me,
my paycheck lies too.
All offer a glimpse of salvation,
then renege, chuckling,
the joke’s on me.
Despair doesn’t lie.
Despair speaks its own truths
to any and all
willing to pay attention.
Despair never welshes,
never changes its mind,
nor takes anything back.
But to hold such glory in your hands,
you have to be
willing to listen, and
willing to forgo
everything else.
Paul Hellweg has had over 60 poems published since his debut in 2009. He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and he won the 2009 Famas Poetry Prize. He thinks all this is pretty cool.
