Poet's Body

I have a poet's body,
so to see my beauty,

you may have to search deeper within.

I make up my face not with lipstick,

for if my lip sticks you're not hearing

what I've said.

I have a poet’s body,

not perfect,

yes there are flaws.

I’m not structured a certain way,

no concrete,

I'm breaking down walls.

I stay covered,

not exposing my flesh,

would rather arouse you,

with the words that I spit.

I have a poet’s body.

My stomach holds truths,

some find hard to digest.

I expel ideas,

meticulous

with common sense.

I have a poet’s body.

My shoulders carry burdens,

that anchor me to the ground.

I massage out the stress,

by writing this down.

I have a poet’s body.

I inhale my surroundings,

hold for a second my breath,

then exhale metaphors,

resuscitating life just as quickly.

I have a poet’s body.

My heart pumps creativity

that flows through my veins,

allowing others to say,

they may feel the same.

Yes, I have a poet’s body,

so to see my beauty,

you may have to search

deeper within.

I have a poet’s body.

and my mind

is waiting to be examined.

       © Suzanne Saxon, 2013

Possibly only the second known photograph of Emily Dickinson,
seated on the left.
Photo released Sept. 7, 2012 by Amherst College Archives and Special Collections
and the Emily Dickinson Museum