I, The Poet Poem by Sophia White

All that there is that is me
Are the words that I write fervidly.
My soul only finds my poor vagrant mind
In the phrases it feverishly pens.

My world is a very small book
Hardly worth a second look.
Some fragmented lines and pitiful rhymes
Coalesce in my mournful eyes.

A lizard gnaws on its tail;
As such, I retrace my trail.
Reading again the fruit of my pen
Bitterly reliving the tears.

What a sad little person am I,
So long gone I forget how to try
To look outside and see how wide
The sky can be at noon.