I'm but a poet.

As you can see, I just attempted to make that title poetic but came up short.

I'm blunt. Blunt is the opposite of poetic. (I would insert an eye-opening metaphor at this point had I possessed the capability to do so.)

I say things like, "Wow. She looks forty years older than the last time I saw her," and "My science class makes me want to stab myself." And that's just how my brain processes thoughts.

Instead, I could write an eloquent haiku on the topic of how aging occurs to those who least yearn for its consequences. I could compose a brilliantly harmonious melody in which I confess how even though science is the most intriguing of subjects, it unleashes in a me an undeniable urge to inflict pain upon myself and those surrounding me.
I could.

But I can't.

I'm physically unable to think like that.

One of my favorite quotes of all time is one by the great Eleanor Roosevelt:
"Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people."

This was one of my favorite quotes -- until I realized that far too often I'm caught within a discussion concerning the latest happenings and who was involved within these occurrences. Far too often does my conversation consist of events and people; therefore, my mind is caught somewhere between small and average. If my mind was to be rated on a scale of one to ten, Eleanor would deem me a three -- which corresponds with the term "unsatisfactory."

But does my inability to produce the art of poetic literature affect my intelligence? Is there some sort of direct correlation between output of articulate rhetoric and greatness achieved in one's life? Is the fact that I used a thesaurus to come up with the phrase "articulate rhetoric" an indication of how small-minded and unintelligent I truly am?

Or does the fact that I'm concerned for my intellect indicate otherwise? Does this mere post qualify as discussing an idea or a thought? Does Eleanor's assertion apply to those who discuss people, events, and ideas?

Maybe I'm intellectual after all. Maybe there's no true measurement of intelligence. Maybe my ineptitude of making words dance off a page has nothing to do with my mental capacity.

Maybe being blunt is a good thing.

Regardless, I'm going to go eat some Zaxby's.

I apologize for wasting your time, you who is probably not actually reading this.

Blue skies,
Brett Westmoreland