How much poetic is real poetic

A girl,

flushed cheeks,

breathing deeply to steady herself

holding the mike with shaky hands

and strings of words in mind

ready to recite her stream of consciousness,

a funny run of events,

which wasn't funny when it happened

but nostalgia sparks humour and humour loves audience,

we come back to the stage

as she performs the first verse

someone laughs and says "this is not poetry"

she breathes in quietly in between the tunes of the guitar strings

and continues

the music allows to cover up some of her flaws

certain minor things like

the one very interesting word that she left out

and almost bit her tongue mid sentence

and that her legs shook almost throughout the performance,

a final thank you and the murmur begins,

the verse will still end in a round of applause,

as a formal rehearsed manuscript.

The guy at the back snorts out again

shaking his head and stating passionately,

how well an art poetry is,

how badly she's destroying it,

"Guitar music doesn't mean good poetry",

someone in the next chair nods and a girl agrees,

loudly, "Exactly, she knows nothing"

Her cheeks flushes again, out of embarrassment

her knowledge of writing has never let her down

it's not something to be bound into shapes

and sizes and colours

imagining a world where everyone

wrote similar verses,

what monotony,

she laughs a little,

although she thinks to herself

she has written her mind and heart out

all the feelings and devices in place

yet wondering about,

as she gets down the stairs

That how much poetic is real poetic!