Natasha Cellich

I am not a poet

This is not a poem.
Poetry requires deliberation, intention,
Pretension, assumption, consideration.
But these are words without complication,
Thoughts fired straight from the synapses,
Like bullets in the brain.
I am the syllable,
And the consensus is that I am stressed.

This is still not a poem.
I could care less about the structure of the stanzas,
And quatrains are bullshit, unless you’re Shakespeare.
Whether it's poetic devices or plot devices,
The tools of the trade demand technicality,
And right-brain dominance has left me stunted.

This will never be a poem.
Ask me to write in iambic pentameter.
I can’t even measure kilometers.
I think in generalizations,
Not color-by-numbers,
And emotions have no framework.
Except when they’re stuffed into poems.

They say that poetry is:
Poetry is rules,
Poetry is no rules,
Poetry is a lie,
Poetry is honesty.
Whatever poetry actually is,
It’s definitely not this.
And I am not a poet.

Hi. Welcome to my website-blog thing.

At some point between December 2021 and January 2022, I was stuck in the post-COVID brain fog, grasping at the last shreds of my sanity in an unwinnable situation. I challenged myself then to write one poem a month for the entire year, because I needed an outlet.

I don’t know why I picked poetry. I fucking hate poetry. I hate analyzing poetry, I hate how pompous people get when they discuss poetry, I hate the institution of Poetry, and I want my lines to rhyme, okay?!

But I decided, I am a masochist, and DAMMIT, I am going to write one poem a month for a year.

Then, I did it.

In full transparency, I combined September and October, so in the end it was technically only 11 poems. But Reader, you’ll be shocked to discover that it inspired me to write more poetry throughout the month, and then throughout the year. It got worse. I started sharing these poems with other people (oh god the horror!).

Then my life imploded, and the monthly poem was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. In total, I wrote around twenty poems, and I survived the year. It took an incredible amount of support from so many people, and if I am honest, a bit of luck, but I did that, too.

I completed the final poem in the first days of January, and I watched everyone else posting goodbyes to ’22 and welcoming in ’23.

I guess this is my way of finally getting around to that.

2022 pushed me to choose myself, finally, and that decision chewed me up, then spat me back out, and I’m still trying to figure out what it all looks like now. But I made the right choices. Even my bones are telling me that.

With that, I invite you to subscribe to my blog. Doing so will notify you when I post other junk here. Also, you are invited to download my Twelve months ebook, free of charge, by clicking the Download button at the bottom of this post.

If the poem in this post and the prospect of even more poems in an ebook doesn’t entice you, I can tell you I plan on posting things like (gasp shock surprise) even more more poems, short stories, excerpts from plays or books, and of course, my endless sassy grumblings.

Hopefully that ticks enough boxes for you that I don’t have to do any more convincing and you’ll subscribe, and we can be, like, internet friendos or something.

I appreciate you taking the time to stop by, in any case.

For those of you sticking around, welcome home.