Pipe Dream I used to carry a bag of tokens… Hoping to go from rags to riches…. Hoping to go from bags to britches…. Like a computer, if only I could get my writing past the glitches… Then I can break free from this realm because I’m stuck at the last dimension. It’s like my dream is running away and I can’t make the apprehension. Instead I become apprehensive… And get chased down by disappointment. The referee should blow the whistle on my career… Because my heart feels like an empty gym… For it hasn’t “worked out.” My heart has lost the fire and the fuel for my passion for it has burnout. My writing was supposed to be this big concert, but it suffered a bad turnout. These love poems I’ve been writing for years, they’re damaged and worn out… They were once bright roses but now they’re roses with their thorns out. I guess this poetry shit has gone mainstream. My poetry is stuck in its own ways, too stubborn to change things. I feel like an employee on the first day of a job and I wish God would “train me…” For I’m having a hard time trying to adjust and what to do next. This writing scheme feels more like a pipe dream… Unattainable and unreachable… And what I’m feeling is unspeakable. Trying to best to keep myself off the ground and stay up. This writing landscape is trying to cut my salary but I refuse to take a paycut. I got to shake off this bad rust. Otherwise I’ll be another one of poetry’s high draft picks that turned into a draft bust. The Poetrist Phenom 2014 Read more of my poetry at facebook/poetristphenom
Posted on: Tue, 18 Mar 2014 17:18:36 +0000
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