I am not a poet
But a woman albeit
The earth is my page
Aged by existence
But its blank- nothing
Is untouched but the trees
Seized to write

The way of the world
Hurled me into a whole
Hole of conformation
Molded my cognation to believe
And perceive that the difference
Is an inference between women and girls

Dream and women don’t
Live in fantasies but
Face reality through silent
Understanding manning the being
Seeing but never freeing
The light in my throat
Matches the words I never wrote

To my daughter’s mother
Another letter to explain
That I am not a woman
But a poet peeling a persimmon
To reveal the golden core
Adored by girls around the world
Dare to dream it seems

That if to be a woman is to give
Up the most beautiful something
Than I’d rather have nothing
But my pen and paper
Taper but I am unfazed
And raised by the notion
Of never being a poet for
I am a poette.