Birth of a Poet

Don't read my notebook I say,
I have nothing to hide..

But this is me, totally naked,
Spat out, raw, from a deep wound
Flailing, my lungs,
Taking their first breath,
A gulp, a high pitched scream,
And fat tears.
Little fists for hands
And screwed up face
Witnessing my birth,
My thoughts on paper,
In all this commotion,
Then words, delivered,
Like afterbirth.
Confessional poetry?
If I wanted to confess,
I'd visit a priest
Ten decades of the rosary
And I'll be saved!
No I bloody won't!
Confess to God? Where are you?
Where were you when I was on my knees,
In the darkness, pregnant with anguish,
Groping for my pen?

 2012 © LH