I met a poet online briefly.
Gave a compliment; she sent out an x.
I am getting old, therefore I do not always understand
the shorthand of the young, their codes of conduct
and misconduct. For all her beautiful words of hazy
borderline mysticism, I noted an imbalance, a dishonesty,
a narrow-mindedness, lush, vibrant words of
poetry, accounts of melancholy, longing for love,
walking outside the exile, but Twitter gave her
away, the narrow camp she followed and who
followed her, her focus on just a prick point
on the earth, her homeland.
Her words 140
characters or less, beautiful random Tweets
that though lovely left an unhealthy taste in
my mouth. There is something too pompous
and proud there for her own good or anyone's
own good. I would love for this girl of the mellow
beautiful voice and worldly words that trick themselves
into a kind of mysticism to truly open her heart
and not pretend. Leave the pretension on the
stage. Leave your dolls there before your audience.
Remove your mind from the narrow box it is in.
It may be difficult since I do not know the conditions
you lived under growing up.
You are a refugee,
but open your mind beyond
your group of headscarved females and self-
centered revolutionaries too afraid to die by a
bullet, drawing attention to themselves but solving
nothing. Speak as this old girl speaks, naturally
and with open love, not all this pleading in the
dark and fear. Even this aging poet knows when
to turn off the poetry and flowers, not to speak
like a poet all the time. Take a holiday from
the stage. To be a poet you have to first be
an honest human with feelings outside yourself
flowing away from the cold rigid princess.