Uninvented Genius Gelato Poem by daubmir nadir

Feel the genius in me
It wants to get out,
Just like the birth
Of Athena from
Zeus' head.

Opening my brain
With a scalpel and
Getting the genius out!
It's there, I know it.
I'm sure.
I am a genius,
no doubt about it.

So, how come
I cannot create?
What evidences
The soaring splendour
Of my genius?
Hidden still in the foetal status,
Ready to explode and
Illuminate the world
With the immensity
Of its genial beauty.

Nonsense.
My genius thrives incognito.
My brain is of such excellence,
That it cannot include itself
And express openly.
The entrails of my sympathetic
Loquaciousness
Indicate the brightness
Of a genius' personality –
Although his productive approach
Defies the normal channels of proof.

What else is there to say?
A genius' work is never done.
Mine was never, and never is nor will.
Content with its state of geniality,
Ingenuousness, genially.

If Genius is the power of lighting
One's own fire,
I forgot the matches –
If Genius is an African
Who dreams up snow,
I am an Italian
Who dreams up gelato.