Am I a fraud?
It’s the question most every poet asks … a “look in the mirror under florescent lights” kind of thing, a scrutiny fueled by fear and courage.
If you’re a poet, and you haven’t pondered your own authenticity, don’t get cocky. You will. Self-interrogation is part of the art. But there’s hope.
When you’re under that blinding bulb, tied to a chair and sweating, remember why you wrote that first magical poem. The real one.