The Truth Hurts
Do I try to be more than I am?
Is the image I portray just a sham?
I’ve always wanted to have a career in fiction,
But constant rejections have hurt my conviction,
I know publication is out of my control,
But after 20 years I’m no closer to my goal,
It’s time to admit my fiction isn’t good enough,
Accepting that bitter pill of truth is tough,
I routinely attend workshops and classes without a dividend,
Hell, I’ve practiced and practiced but to what end?
Compared to those who get published my stories fall flat,
Sure, I could self-publish but what good is that?
No matter how hard I try my stories never hit the mark,
The difference between dreams and reality is stark,
My writing dreams are unattainable I feel,
At what point do I need to get real?
We have unfinished business you and I,
I’ve let enough time slide by,
I can’t let it go on anymore,
Not writing is something I abhor,
Between death and soul-crushing critique,
I put my pen down and refused to speak,
I had lost the taste for writing prose,
Around myself I let myself enclose,
I let the poetry out, but that’s all,
The desire to write anything else was AWOL,
The passion for prose still isn’t there,
But the need to do it is laid bare,
It’s part of me I have refused too long,
I feel it’s time to right that wrong,
Dead on Arrival
My computer didn’t want to turn on!
It wasn’t that my battery was gone,
It was fully charged, but it didn’t matter,
No lights, no beeps, and no hard drive clatter,
I plugged in the power cord to no avail,
This caused an aggravated exhale,
I removed the cords and the docking station,
The continued black screen had no explanation,
It wasn’t until I removed the battery did things change,
After reinserting it, it powered on- how strange!