I’m not a poet. I am not poetic, but I know how to tell you 2 plus 2 is square and it makes sense.
I don’t write poetry. I do, however, speak with a noisy silence that your mind can hear clearly.
I may not be a writer, but when I call my pen and paper to hang out, they seem to enjoy each other’s company.
I am not dead. I’m breathing, but I have been in this box, with this cat, for so long that even I can’t tell; even while playing poker with my soul.