Troubled for sure
No way can you add the Artist part
Until such time as I get to call myself an Artist
All I am for now is troubled and unable to get my poems published
Who knows which poem it might be?
That goes about giving me a sense of belonging
Maybe the one about the drunken friends stumbling on home
Or maybe it will be the grandfather who tries to play the Super Nintendo
I give up on trying too hard
Because in the end the poetry only turns out worse
So the deal is this, find a happy medium
Isn’t easy for writers to get it right
Some poems beautiful for all intents and purposes
Others the kind an eight year old could write
Isn’t the real art in how the writer
Went about putting certain lines on a page
He mightn’t think it makes too much sense, or has much body
But when he or she writes about a night on the beer
Or time spent cradling a kid
That is when the word become more than mere words
Filling a page
For me you’re given a few thousand words to work with
In making sure that something, anything
Sucks the reader in
In a way that leaves the talent debatable
Debatable is a good thing
It means some people are sitting on the fence
But that’s good because they are open to being sucked in
Better having them sitting on the fence
Then turning their back on you