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being a poetess is good for me. when i'm angry or sad it's a healthy way to just scream it out. the curves and meaning of the poem is crucial to make it a good one. i always love being a poet. the poems make my life easier.

so what does being a poet mean to you?

To a simple answer often we make complicate . When the words are not digested inside;and when something beyond the limit of endurance they spill . A poet is not a separate being hauled from the outer world . It is the sensation that gives birth to a vibration and then begins the streaming of words . We are in every body but every body does not bear us - Poets are the end of the beginning and the beginning of an end.

SURENDRA PALLAI

I mostly agree with mzundastood (hope i don't missunderstand you - and i also believe that it just help me with my emotions whatever they may be… i'd love to really consider myself as a poet up i still have some insecurities there ..

Being a poet to me, is like being a song writer… You can write good songs and totaly horrible songs. And that how most people are… Good and Bad poems. I don't think i am super good, but i have my friends suport with them telling me what to change and stuff… But being a Poet is importent for me cause its in my blood:)

                  <33Cassie4eva

“I do find comfort and a sense of release when I write my poems.”

I almost agree—I mean, when I'm frustrated, upset at life, saddened, consumed with deep emotion,even elated, my hands start to write. I don't know if I control them or if I could stop them if I tried. My hands write poetry; but often in the aftermath I can not say that I always find release or relief when all that is are words. If a problem there is, a problem there is still, but now there is words. If there is love, words do not capture more than a feeling—and there are words.

“Not Just Words”

My words are not just words

In fact they are a crime

My words are so incongruous

That I've taken them out of time

My words are only words

And this fact you will see

That every word I've written

Is nothing just like me

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“Words - Out Of Time”

“Why are we here? Where do we belong?”

A subtle indication of just what went wrong

Like strangers from some distant galaxy

trapped in a parallel reality

They're out of phase with time and space

They're out of pace and removed from the race

Out of breath

Running out of time

Out of place

I look on, effete, as my words are displaced

Words are erased, thoughts are disgraced

Striped of their rank, just a meaningless face

Unloved, and un-embraced

What a waste. . .

What a crime

They're just words - out of time

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