I will write ’til my fingers are red at the very ends, just too many entertaining avenues to take altogether – I do so little as write, whilst ye’re the real ones who get to feed me a million-and-one ideas
Trust me, it’s frighteningly learned, dunno if I even so much as earned it
An amazing street photographer all too willing to swap a magical moment caught in time on his immaculate part – framed ‘n’ all – for a personalised poem on mine simply dedicated only to him
Another girl who did the exact same – too much talent to ever truly explain
Where in the name of God do I come in!?
Then there’s the age-old exhibitions, the people who take it entirely upon themselves to stand it out ‘n’ read my every word
Absurd in my own oh so humble opinion but do you hear me complaining?
Hell no!! I’m prepared to go toe-to-toe
Requests for deep ‘n’ meaningful poems, ones that can, and will, still their beating hearts
I make certain of that
And they never, ever seem to throw it back in my face
Seems I might just have placed myself perfectly
Finally
What will be will indeed be, but this is already downright fruitful to a point of no such return
Seems these readings at two particularly popular cafes – commissioned ‘n’ all – are beginning to take it to another level, at least I think – one person honing on in at a mesmerising time ’til each ‘n’ every last one of your uncertain smiles start to shine
Somehow, anyhow
This feels like bare luck to me but I’m all too willing to tuck on in

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