They will tell you things like, “Writers are made, not born.”
They will tell you that poets are the ones who know their metaphors and the lilac sky.
But let me tell you that once as a child, I read that the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body. At college, I learned that the mandible is the last bone that would ever decay when we die.
And somehow, the weight of words became twice or thrice heavier than they should be.
I realized then that I was some sort of a god. I realized then that I could kill with words. I could breathe lives with my poetry. My spoken words held power more than anything. Raw teeth and soft tongue, I could make you feel. It was all there. It was all in my anatomy. It was how I was built. I realized one thing then:
I was built as a poet.