A note.

There is a certain vulnerability in expressing a spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings to others,
and if you, as a writer, are unable to feel the threat of judgment
as your words escape the prison of your rib cage,
bouncing round in the red orb hung delicately within your chest,
then siphoned through the mind and escaped through the lips or finger tips,
then you are unable to call yourself a poet.

Just saying.