I am not a poet

and, if it weren’t for insurmountable evidence to the contrary,
I would argue that
I am not a writer either,
however, my parents’ money –
of which I have never fully determined the precise amount
(as I am also not a mathematician) –
that bought the BSJ
I will officially receive a month from
tomorrow, clearly thinks that
I am.
This Bachelor of Science Journalism
would indicate to anyone that I am a
journalist – which, of course,
as I am not a writer (or photographer or broadcaster)
I am not –
but it thinks I am.
Which I guess is a harmless enough thing
for money to do
(after all, we’ve seen it do so much worse)
so I think I can live with that.
But a poet?
That seems like a stretch.
I think there’s a better name for this thing I’m doing –
something less serious – less refined – less
poetic.
I think it just sounds too cool at the bar –
Me? I’m a writer.
Yes, poetry.
That sounds good, doesn’t it?
That sounds like bullshit.
No twenty-one year old girl would fall for that –
in fact, I’ve found that writing poetry for girls tends to freak them out –
although, that might just be because I’m not a poet –
I bet it worked for Frost,
definitely for Shakespeare,
Seuss probably too
(I bet he got weird girls
(short ones, tall ones, green ones, orange ones)) –
but this poem (if you insist on calling it that)
won’t get me girls
or a paycheck or
any closer to what I am
or am not.