I do not want to be poetic. I do not want my word deposits to feel heavy and somber. The letters should have a mind of their own--think their own thoughts. Thoughts born of prose. Not poetry.
I'd rather give a thought flight. And there's plenty in the stuff of poetry that can't grow wings.
I dislike the sobriety in the cadence of a poem. I don't like the gravity. The plodding. Prose skips, saunters, and makes an entrance. While poetry, like so much smoke, tries to snake its way inside. It aims for sublime when outright bodes better.
I don't want to be a poet.
Poetry doesn't suit me. My words don't want girth. They don't want to be bestowed with anything more than their shapes and their ideas. To record myself, prose is my medium. Not poetic prose. Poetic has a rough go at being wry. I'd rather wry than shy and blithe.
Bad poetry is saccharine, it's trite, it's trying too hard, and it's everywhere, pervading the good as comrades. Comrades incognito. Read a piece from a would-be poet and they fouled off the sublime they were aiming to hit. Instead we see the effort behind it. We see the trying to mean more, the trying to have heft. While bits of better poetry show no effort; each word carries its own weight and the sentiments aren't tangled in their own self-importance.
When you know that the poet put the piece together with intention to make you feel rather than to express how they feel, you are faced with bad writing.
Because the world, especially the one powered by cords and conjoined using invisible threads, has more bad poetry than good, we're so often smacked with bad. And I don't want it. I don't want it for me. I don't want my words to land on the page with a thud and refuse lift.
Now and again I feel a moment of poetry. But if I sit very still, saying nothing, it will pass, leaving me--and you--unscathed.