A Poet's Costume

For full text of poem:https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Z82UPfiV54yyk8pLDj3ESrs1YBjbMnltOybEPltbJuA/edit?usp=sharingA Poet’s Costume wait, are you saying these  naturopathic pants don't fit me and they've never looked good on me and no one said anything until now well actually they did but i was so perplexed i couldn't see it but now it's beginning to come clear what if i'm not meant to be a caregiver to anyone that wants to pay me $560 what if i could just  love and adore  and take care of my family and friends  and that was it what if i spent my time  creating works and performing them and what if people wanted to come and sit with me and talk about their lives and i might have a cup of tea with them and we hash out their ideas and i add a few what if i wrote books like the kinds i like to read  with the pretty covers in a cute handheld size what if my lifelong love of learning got turned around on me and i saw that i was someone with something to offer something of value something people would want to read i hear the dismal moans and guffawing at the prospect of wrestling myself  into a poet's costume cigarette pants black flats a morose anorexic in the city looking down her nose at the low arts and savoring her clove cigarettes that job sounds carcinogenic do i think it's a waste of time for others to make books and music? do i trivialize their musings? hell no! i worship in the grand library   of creativity on any subject i might desire to explore  i love the anticipation of picking up a new book holding it like a mirror to see me what i look like in it. showing me reflections  of my own heart and mind in their ideas and recognizing myself more fully so deep and juicy the satisfaction of that interchange i love the written word for its power to inspire to make me laugh out loud a private oracle consulted in bed  to affirm me and my place in the world the coffee clutch of naysayers i can hear them now as they cackle what a  frivolous bougie self-indulgent impractical unhelpful pointless waste of time energy and effort and yet the brain children  of millions of other artists make life worth living for us all and are some of their works  have stood in for me over the years as dear friends helpful nisses supporters encouragers why shouldn’t i be able  to be one of those artists? the only thing i want to do is sit here legs warm under my blanket with long stretches of time alone and a nice pen and coffee and see what wants to emerge it's not a creation but a discovery not making a thing up but making out its image  slowly at first from afar and then getting closer to it it's outline is clearer and you say hallelujah, it's a baby! that's pretty much  the hottest game in town as far as i'm concerned from inside the walls of my brain i know every inch  of the boring geography but this other writing is not from around these parts it beams in from another universe i've not visited and so it's all new and the air is so clean you want to gulp it in and your eyes are so wide open you want to take in everything and the clarity is crystal sparkling magic like when you first take mushrooms and you can't get over  the beauty and perfection in nature's choice of leaf shape on what