Please, Don'T Call Me An Artist Poem by Delilah Miller

Mozart might have hated me.
My mind
never mastered a genius
a talent,
even a skill.
In all pursuits of silly rhymes
I swallowed sunny air and
twirled in sweet oceans.
My legs just ticked away time.

Perhaps I ought have stayed there,
Because now, my words slip!
The hand holding heaven says
'You've stayed too long at the fair.'
And it's so fucking unfair
Because they can use a cliche.
I want to be misty nights,
clouded over and
never have to clear stars away.

Instead, I get a little distance
and a nice pen,
like I'll implode one autumn day
into tiny scraps of paper
with big vocabulary and blurry phrases
and people,
they won't wonder why
I insisted on eating up all my pages.