I sit and ponder, chew my pencil, wait
For God’s divine dictation. But he’s lost
My invitation. I thought God was great?
Don’t you check your Outlook Bro? Double crossed
My dream of being a writer’s coprolitic
Occasionally I get the nerve to scribble
A line or two before the inner critic
Appears. What is this fetid anal dribble?
These hackneyed tropes and dull conceits. You think
This crap is Booker worthy? Get a grip!
And so, I stop, screw up the paper, sink
Into another funk, abandon ship
I know at 8 years old I had potential
At forty-six I’m not entirely sure.
My writer’s block has reached the existential
There’s so much balled up paper on the floor
I fear it will collapse and take me with it
I’ll ossify under the boards. They’ll root
Me out in five millennia, exhibit
Me in some museum. A stone salute
To checked ambition. I’ll be classified
As half a human. On my wooden stand
The sign will read, “Completely Petrified
21st Century, Shell of a Man”
In the words of the Prophets, Cypress Hill
I ain’t goin’ out like that. I have spent
To long tumbling on this insane treadmill
Watching my mind decompose and ferment
Of being excluded from my own life choices
Of constantly heeding the ghastly taunting
From my cast and crew of inner voices
They’re always present, passing judgement, haunting
Me with the shameful spectre of a life
That’s ordinary. “Not world famous? Not
a star? No swimsuit model for a wife?
No hedonism on your superyacht?
You’re inadequate, you’re a waste of space
You should be something better, something good
Go shove your ‘shoulds’ in sideways, there’s no place
For them here. I am shifting to a ‘should’
Free zone. I’m clearing out my mental litter
And taking off my tortured artist’s cloak
I’ve never worn it well. Fuck old and bitter
I will go with fun instead. I will joke
And jape and jackanape, not mope and sigh
And rue. I’ll point and giggle, pun and ape
I’ll limerick, ditty and rhyme. Write wry
Reflections, whimsical verse, an escape
For family and friends. I’ll make them laugh
That’s my goal. Life is hard enough, why add
This existential angst. No autograph
Hunters chasing me down? Well, I’m a Dad
And a husband, brother and friend I’ll take
Those over fame any day. So, my pledge
Is this. I’ll do all that I can to make
My family’s lives lighter, smoothe the sharp edge
Of existence. I won’t waste so much time
Locked in my head, I’ll be mindful, present
And loving instead. And if the odd rhyme
Draws the odd smile, then that’s a life well spent