What makes a poet?

They told me I couldn't write

that my words mean nothing.

But I gravitate to my pen anyway.

I have to put my thoughts on paper

whether or not I'm understood.

I don't write for me.

it's you that makes me write.

Your pain and fear,

the way she tears you down

and I only seem to add fuel to the fire.

I pull you one way

while she stretches you the other.

I can't come between this bond

and it rips at my core.

Why would I write this?

Poems are supposed to be

precise, not vague.

Where's the story line

and iambic pentameter?

Maybe I'm no poet after all.