untraditional

I do not have the long, slender fingers
associated with artists,
nor the depressed, shadow-eyed aura.
I am not a tall, underfed recluse
or a dilapidated drunk passed out on opium
in the arms of an inexpensive lover.
I have no terminal illness brought about by my bad habits,
and I lack the seemingly critical element
of mental disturbance.
My love life, while not always blissful,
is not an overly-complex labyrinth of long-losts and should-have-beens.

In short, I lack the obvious, popularly familiar traits
that shape an artist

but do not doubt that the only thing I will always be
is a poet.