Words Without a Title

I am no poet.
I know little of meter or rhyme.
Whenever I follow the paths taken, I am left with rubble.
Remnants of words lie beneath my feet; Together,they mean nothing.
They may even rhyme, but they do not fit.
Words are complexities of the mind- I write them, and forget them forever.
I am no poet.
My words for you, are nothing
For me, they are a droplet of poison leaving my body; I am light with hope.
Hope of clarity,the evocation of truth-a truth unseen.
I am drained with each flourish of this pen, freedom,liberation sets in.
It is the words of many poets which leave traces-no full picture.
I am Saze,carrying copper wrists of memory. They contain memories the human mind often forgets.
It's a penseive, which can take from me which I do not want.
I am no poet- you say,
What words does she speak?
Why should I lay it out for you?
I like cryptic.
Mystery is what I intend.
Speaking clearly is meaningless, even then you could not comprehend.
I am no poet.
I have the soul of a poet, the body of a Jane clashing daily to bring forth destiny.
Each minute, each second is crucial; The alteration of many paths, the possibilities endless- the realities few.
A poet only sees realities; It is what they make of it.
A dreamer sees only possibilities,no more.
Can we choose more than one? Is it not our decision?
You say I am no poet.
Wel then, what are you?
Are you defined by a word?
A title?
An action?
A voice?
I may be a voice;
I may be an action; I may even be a title.
I am a poet without boundaries, without norms, without morale.
Without fluidity, with grace,without beauty.
I am with and without.
I am not what YOU make of me.