I am a Poet

I'm a poet...or at least some think so.I write my rants on social media and blogs.  I fit them with pretty words and phrases and people seem to like them better!  Sometimes, I even write about something that inspires me.Sometimes I write something and I reread and think "meh, it's ok", but sometimes there is a piece that just stabs the soul.  Those are the ones that make me wonder where the words came from.  I spend very little time writing those most times.  They flow out of the keyboard onto the page as if someone is dictating them to me.A muse, perhaps, I don't know about that.  But I think I know who he is that writes the words that sting me so.  It's me, the inner me, the kid that never grows up in all of us.  He's still in there clutching a teddy bear, watching the horror and delights or life unfold in front of his innocent eyes.  We as adults, we build walls around that kid.  We protect him from view.  He or she is embarrassing, immature, "the past", but are they really?That inner child is who you are right now, if you're really honest.  Our adult image is just a mask that he or she peers through and pretends with.  We play the game that society wants us to...to fit in...to avoid ridicule....to "succeed"...Well, my kid seems to be lashing out and telling me "what for" more and more lately.  Reminding of my wasted years and stupid choices.  He doesn't have too much faith in the adult me, but neither do I.  He's a reminder of where I came from.  A reminder of my failures and how much the world has hurt me in return.  I despise him at times, but when I look inside at his tear-stained face, I realize that I despise only myself and that the little guy just wants a hug....And he calls out with those pretty words, when the tears aren't enough.