I don't like poetry all that much.
It seems like everyone has something simple to say but exaggerates their experiences for expressionistic gain. Talking about summertime loves come and gone are like seasons that change and I can't make sense of it all.
I'm stuck wondering to and for what we are called.
They tell me, “Jose, poetry is what you make of it. It's one of the few avenues of free speech that we have left and you're criticizing it?”
Yes.
I criticize for the exact same reason people talk of world peace, revolution, change: because I can. Maybe I'll spark change within this instrument of inspiration by following one of the steps to writing a political poem minus the politics.
What are we called for? What are we called for? What are we called for? What are we called for? What are we called for? What are we called for? What are we called for? What are we called for? What are we called for? What are we called for? What are we called for?
And repeat this question over and over until it causes someone's cellphone to ring only to discover that the person on the other end had dialed a wrong number.
As a writer, what am I called for? Purpose. It's a concept that we all walk with in life, hand in hand, sometimes never recognizing it. The stories we weave with our spindle of words and expressions are great but, what are we called for at the end of the day?
Nothing has changed. I still don't like poetry. But the appreciation I have for those involved is immense. So I hope we can change and make sense of this mess.
