Simple as that
In my head I won The Pulitzer Prize but in my hand over 100 rejection letters
No matter how hard I might like to try, they just will not open up their avenue, their thirst
To my particular style, my particular ways
Utterly demanding
I know what they say, that you do indeed need to bank a God awful amount of time – copious hours
Ten thousand, in fact
Whatever you do manage to write there sure as hell ain’t no going back
All bobbing about inside of the memory awaiting a most glorious knock upon it’s door
Fame, fortune, success
Or perhaps no less, and certainly no more, than a whole lotta failure in store
Try your best not to abhor the whole process, letting it settle oh so sweetly for a while
Impress you entirely
Then a time may well come, albeit fleeting, when you are met halfway by a most serendipitous smile
Magnetising you right back to your plagued feet all over again
Old ‘n’ worn pens getting their shot at delayed glory
Inking their own backstory for all to see