“Can you really say that?” I hear my familiar internal voice, questioning and a little dismissive. “You haven’t had any of your poetry published in a reputable magazine, nobody has your words in a book on their shelf. How can you call yourself a poet?”
“I write and perform poetry” my answer is lightening quick, leaving his words no time to settle and cause self doubt.
“Well I’ve never heard of you and if I’ve never heard of you then you can’t be a real poet”
I know he is lying, this is an internal dialogue, of course he has heard of me. I sense a weakness in his attack and respond swiftly.
“I am a poet because I say I am. I say I am because it feels good. It feels good because it helps me connect. It helps me connect to because I share myself. I share myself because I want to be heard. I want to be heard because I am a poet.”
My inner voice is muted by this circular argument.