I pressed “performance poetry” into YouTube’s search boxkept company by a simplified magnifying glass on the right (in its own light-grey box): a type oflollipop.It transitioned to dark grey as I dragged the cursor over it.When I licked the lolli, it appeared to move downwards and up againlike a chest or a button or a chest—Boxed images with words on their sides flashed open.Sarah Kay’s “The Type” (first on the list)under the “Ad”that I dismissed.Clicking the image makes it bloomand I hear her poem,a poem where I don’t know if she’s conversing with the audience or reading a poem:the best type of poem.Wanting more, I click the box on the right,a poem of Kay’s called “Montalk.”Being from Long Island, my mind perks up: listening dog ears.Sand gets into the folds of my skin. I listen.YouTube then lead me to Rudy Francisco’s poem “Complainers,”a poem that made me say woooo out loud like I was there.a poem that told me to enjoy my half-full glass of water,and it was refreshingly hydrating.Their poems made me realize I was a shitty poet.Their poems structured me as bones do to bodies.Their poems are now my poems.Their poems were never theirs;And this poem was never mine.