We are the poets

(GRIEF)
We are the heart-wrenchers,
Our every syllable infused with more anguish than the last.
You will weep for us as we never wept ourselves
And thank us for it afterward.

(SCORN)
We are the tongue-cluckers.
Our brand of scorn could make you hate Mother Theresa.
Wielding our power through diction and pauses
We will burn you if you cross us.

(MORTIFICATION)
We are the blush-wranglers
On our home course, “too much information” is barely par.
Spewing intimate secrets like Mardi Gras beads,
I showed you mine. You know how it works.

(RAGE)
We are the riot-starters,
Bellows for the bonfire of discontent,
Spearhead of this revolution, first ones jailed in the next one
Here’s your spray paint, here’s your rock to throw.

(MIRTH)
We are the belly-shakers.
Our smiling words the menacing hands that lunge for your throat
And when your heart leaps into it, we wink at you.
Tickle tickle!

(PASSION)
We are the heartstring-pluckers.
Your most sensitive notes resonate at our fingertips.
Wooing you with sonnets we wrote to someone else.
Let you think you could be so lucky.

(DECEPTION)
We are the wool-pullers
Our reality fabricated conveniently for deception
Convincing you of truths you know to be false.
You never noticed leaving Kansas.

(FAME)
We are the poets.
Applauded in this venue, yet nameless beyond these doors.
Parsing out our 15 minutes of fame
180 seconds at a time.