I Am Not a Poet

I am not a tall, proud Indian.
I am not a weeping willow.
I am not a sidewalk shadow.
I am not a fire yearning to break free.

I am not a seedling.
I am not a far-reaching
Tree branch, I am not
The greatest thing to ever walk the earth.
I am the worst.

I am the best,
The brightest, the whitest egg
In the nest, the next great
Mistake to be made
When the wind comes through the trees.

I can see why you’d think this was silly.
I can understand why you'd think I hold the world
In the palm of my tiny, torn hand
Because when I smile,
My white teeth gleam in the florescent lights
But they catch no one’s eye
And I am free to do what I please.

See,
I can stand still and straight as the world turns
And move only my eyes,
Trying to keep time with the heartbeat of every living creature.
Every shadow, every fire, every tree.

But I am not a poet,
Because I cannot set them free.