We may be sagging but we’re still going. 😉
I’d be a writer.
Fame, fortune, renown.
That was when I was young
and stupid and vain.
Today I write
because I can do nothing else.
I frequently fail
to be good.
although I pretend to think I always am.
I wonder about the good writers
how they’re different from me.
I think they must take more time
or risks or discoveries or live better lives
or make better verbs or nouns
or better friends?
I’m never a better writer.
I think I must take more time
and not worry over every word the way I do
but think outside the box
although I never know where that is.
Even if I write a perfect story, it’s not perfect, because
none can be, and mine obviously not.
Self-pity, you say?
Try harder, you say?
Okay. Show me the way, Peter Frampton.
I’m here, willing to listen.