Why?
Why the pain?
Why the aggravation?
Why the urge to earn adoration?
And for what?!
My brain fires off,
But my mind is aloft.
Muse and greatness just out of reach;
Crushed by excitement and smeared with defeat.
A pleading! A desperate grasp for life—
Held at bay by the edge of a knife.
It seems so easy to take what’s in reach,
But I’m frozen in place.
My heart may never win a race,
What’s so bad about second place?
They remember your name, instead of your face.
Writing—I think—is my only ‘true’ high.
But I can’t control when my vice will stop by.
What a shame.
A Poet’s Qualm 