Spigot

I found out last night
just how weird I am
in a room full of poets
none like me. They
craft and rehearse and
sculpt their work
one piece at a time
perfecting their presentation
honing talent and skill.
I explode, spew forth,
drench the page
with my ejaculations
and loving these words
leave them panting
moving on to the next
hundreds of my children
carrying my voice
into the world.
I am prolific, a fountain,
a gushing spigot
I can’t
dont want to
turn off.
This was always
in you, she said,
and she’s right but
I gush, now,
because you are
in me too.

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2 thoughts on “Spigot

  1. Pingback: How to Brew a GREAT Blog (or not) | Iam Who Iam

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