Someone said I made him smile today.
All I did was make a joke.

I saw a picture of something that,
if it were real,
would terrify me.
It no longer terrifies me.
I described it another way.

I have a blank page, with other non-blank pages before it.
I have notes, I have ideas.
I have a world, being built or grown or seen or conveyed.
I have characters who fight me.
Somehow life has come to those pages.
Yet all they are, are words.

As a person, I could list forever the things I don’t have,
the money and power I lack,
the tools of others but not of mine.
As a storyteller, I barely stand, and do not know that I will ever walk.

Nonetheless, I create.
Nonetheless, I invite.
Nonetheless, I engage.

I effect change, by my words and my silences.

As a poet, I am one of the most powerless gods on the planet.

But I am a god,
and that I can tell you why
tells you why.


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