Here’s a revised poem, that I wrote a few years back, called “Honest Confessions.” I end this latest revision with the lines, “I am a poem/ revised too many times.

Honest Confessions

I've been explaining myself
over and over and again,
to you, my sister,
my brother -

My reader -
confessing some of my deepest secrets.

I left a nice home...
Yet I have nothing against
the beaches I left,
with those hypnotic waves

that kept me still       and steady
how much better to nurture a poet
than any other place.

Why leave or move to anywhere?
Is there anything
about a place
that defines what a
poet becomes?

Perhaps, it's through
the persons we meet
that we become
who we are.

Psychiatrist, Dr. R. D. Laing explains that I
am defined by
my social interactions.
I am a poem
revised too many times.

By Bruce Whealton -
revised June 5, 2009