I’ve come to write something again.
It’s basically about the things to remain.
Like a job and an income to be kept safe.
And how dreams and fantasies should be kept at bay.
For all the years that I have been alive,
To become a renowned poet is what I’ve always strived.
For my poems to be heard and to earn money for my deed.
To use the same money to help those in need.
I’ve always looked at my poems
As a way to help people and myself.
I think of my art as a sanctuary for the people and themselves.
It was my own way of saying “Hey, you’re not alone.”
Though I admit that some of my creation
Are merely a way for me to practice my passion,
Most of them are made from pure emotion.
An artistic form of self-expression.
Though I want to aim for the heights,
It seems that happenstance does not deem it right.
It seems that fate has another plan
Because it saw me unfit to be a poetically renowned man.
Looking at my situation here at home,
It seems I am fit to be a breadwinner all along.
It’s not the first time I’ve done this role.
I did well even though it left my heart with an empty hole.
Even though I dreaded waking up to work,
Even though I dragged myself to the office,
I’m always happy when I come home.
‘Cause I can see the smiles from my loved ones which is priceless.
Though I want to be a full-time poet,
It seems that God himself disapproves it.
‘Cause with all the years that I’ve been writing,
I still haven’t amounted to anything.
So with this, I give up my dreams.
My dreams of becoming known, along with my hopes.
I’m throwing them all to the flowing streams.
I still wish for people to go and grab their dreams.
I’ll be cheering on them from behind the ropes.
It may seem like the end, but it’s actually not.
I’ll continue to be a poet in a different spot.
My spot will be the darkness from which ambitions rot.