I wonder why we listen to poets and nobody gives a fuck.

I've decided to make this an outlet I guess. It's not like anyone is going to read it anyway but at the off chance that there is someone in this same cosmos feeling the way I do at any particular moment, and can for one second share something with me, well, then it's all worth it.

"you win again"

why
am I
obsessed
with quick gratification
I'm sold on celebration
if I could arrange
a car to pick me up
and take me to the theater
to see my latest play
to hear the actors say
the words that I had written
the press would still be smitten
after a decade of brilliant productions
and sing my praises
as i watched from my box
but i
i could never achieve
that kind of validation
because i have yet to
produce any sort
of worth while material
an expression of myself
does not exist
and there for I do not.
But nothing changes
I'm merely a reflection
of artists I have cherished
everything i've written
and everything i've sang
everything i've filmed
and everything i am
is fake
phony
a rip off of true talent
that doesn't exist.