Imposter (Poetry)

I’ve worked out what the problem is —
(I fell in back along)
I don’t look like a poet should —
my image is all wrong.

I can’t quite put my finger on
precisely what it is —
too dull? too old? too short? too thin?
this multi-option quiz

a puzzle with no jackpot prize
no nail hit on the head
I’ve gone on flogging the same horse
’til it’s worn out and dead.

I’ve done the arty-farty bit
and tried to act blasé
like some fêted celebrity
attending a soiree.

I feel a fraud and I suspect
the literary elite
have found me out — I don’t fit in
they’ve tumbled my deceit.

I’m not eccentric — not the stuff
of poets — that is clear
though I can fashion words to rhyme
(as evidenced right here)

there’s something vital that I lack —
that odd je ne sais quoi
which keeps me on the outside of
their “Members Only” club.

I write the truest verse I can
a poet rules my heart
while instinct’s told me all along
I just don’t look the part.