Hell no, writing ain’t the easiest thing in the world to do, the easiest way to go
Nothing gives you the right to believe that you ahead of everyone else can make magic happen overnight
Of course, a magnificent sleight of hand does help, it causing the reader to think, read a little or alot more, ’til their door is firmly locked, your punctuation unable to do anything other than shock, in the best way possible
Then there will always be the clock, you trying to beat it, defy it, meet an all too important poetic deadline inside of your own head, to mull it over and come out with a line or two which strikes dread into other poets, the ones who have all along preached it from the rooftops that when it comes to the art of writing they just seem to know it
Know exactly what needs to be done, that if you were, in fact, to place a gun to their head right this minute what they write would have to be read
You want a million and one people to come at you and say:”What you wrote in that poem, it simply made my day!”
We all pray for that, recognition to the very last, a blast of fame never hurt anyone, or did it?
Many a writer sits and hopes to make their use of the English language flow on into others, they no longer just content with the obvious bias of a father, a proud mother

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