To the poet who gets in touch
once every three months, having no idea who I am
Asking me for a 5, 000 dollar speaking gig at a college
Dear poet, I do not hate you
but Instead I set the bar which I respect you
So you understand who you are when I look at you
We are not family
yeah, we might both ride the winding roads from time to time
and spin rhyme to feed our bellies
and the bellies of those hungry for some truth
But you and I are not family
Especially when I am nothing more than a book sold to you
And now, when there are many more volumes where that
came from, you see me as a key
To the forbidden fruit of universities
And the gold they keep chained up there
in their lockers and their banks and their basements
A way to trick the kids into wasting their semesters away
Pining for some teachings that you have to teach them
Cause to young, any teachings are worth paying for
To the unlearned, if you disguise yourself as a star in the sky
you can burn so brightly, right in front of their eyes, they can do nothing but stare agape at the sun of what you have lived.
Cause they have no idea that simply by living,
Will they learn everything and anything that you have to teach them.
Everyone deserves to make a living
But there's a trickery to your art
of disguising yourself to superstarnova surrounded by six string quartets and string sets and soliloquies
I can see through the press kit you're trying to sell
Every poem sounds like an epiphany when you put a slow cello behind it, playing the key of A major, that's the most uplifting,
Speak with the voice of an angel.
We've all been taught since birth to eat the words of angels like it was our last supper, and then you, you can be a savior too.
Instead, I'd rather like to hear your poems not read by your voice but by someone not priviledged enough to have one.
Speach bubbles floating above the unspoken.
We are not family.
Now don't get me wrong, I respect you.
And you are good.
But you are not 5-grand good.
Well you are 5-grand good but not anymore than I'm 5-grand good
Or the young lady in the open mic is 5-grand good, or the overlooked reader in the slam is 5-grand good, or the community organizer who got you as a gig is 5-grand good.
I would love to pay you a million dollars for your art
but that kind of economy does not currently exist.
So while you and the rest of your heavenly hoster, floating around the country dealing out truths like golden apples on trees, the rest of us, we're bending over backwards to arrange the yellow brick road for you.
So you can solarflare through our cool night breeze
And teach us what it's like to be warm.
But me, I'd rather be the moon
Not shining brightly, but instead, reflecting light on others
so they can see just how far a shadow they can cast
When you dim the lights just low
Everyone is gigantic with the reach of giants,
learning from one another.
family is not something you call someone
you want something from.
Family, is someone who already gave it to you.

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