©. Feb 15, 2024. All Rights Reserved.
By the time I turn ageless,
I want to be a best-selling novelist
And a renown poet.
I’ll use 100% of my brain
Instead of just the right or left side
Out of hesitance.
The stories that I tell
Can feel like polygraph tests
With an authentic source of euphony.
My posture will tell you that
I can articulate every word
In the English dictionary.
Fans will thank my innovation,
Unlike 5-star libraries
That never respond to my emails.
I will be cheered for my dialogues
And sentence fluency
And my autographs will be worth homes,
But I will not sell my soul,
And I will worship the mediator
Between the Father and men,
Dog-tired, harnessing your happiness
Until your eyes are the color of grape sugar
That’s a ten.
My writing will have the bone-chilling longevity
Of wedging your foot
Into relationships.
Wedge your will into relationships
And do you mean that it is
A legal will or a free will?
You could not like me any more than you do,
Then there is the concept of love,
Tickling the ears.
Wait until you find out that I bulked up
On the words that you put into my mouth
For ageless years.
I’ve lost sleep and salaries.
I’ve lost friends and families,
Writing for my endless dreams.
I bulked up on sincerity
Like the equivalent
Of running out of bleached toilet paper.
Worrying will be eradicable,
Even if you have an undershot jaw
Because you’re you.
Talk me into an ice cream headache
And tell me that I’m supposed to utter
That it’s a brain freeze.
Succumb to tuberculosis
And I don’t need the king’s evil
Because I have the Lord who sees.
While I’m writing, you could be glowering at me
While gloating, across the globe
Like sold out tickets.
I am not a loquacious man
Using who and whom verbally
While reading kiss-and-tell novels.
Forgive me if I do not write
Like the doting work wives
That are wearing the face of kumbaya.
What if I talk like coming-of-age stories
With cars running in garages
Because of the law?
I was told that you’re supposed to write
The way you speak
And thinking too long about a subject shows.
I convince myself that the rich buy vowels
Like buy one, get one free,
Restricting the ways you speak.
Graphite colors my writing hands,
Which are dirty fingernails and when I type,
There’s autocorrect.
I do not request speech-to-text
Because AI may even
Try to remember my dialect.
I’ve lost sleep and salaries.
I’ve lost friends and families,
Writing for my endless dreams.
Before we start a buddy system,
I have some reasons
Why you may want to reconsider it.
I am not an award-winning actor,
But may know about psychology
A little bit.
Because psychology can help
With character development,
Remind me what I’m fluent in.
I know English, but my love language
Is words of affirmation,
So let the studying begin.
My writing could be like a people person
That is not a people pleaser,
But I’m improving
Like I’m giving my main characters
Catchy nicknames
And reexploring my versatility.
Writer’s block is like oxymorons
To geniuses and suspects
To citizen informants.
I put the cure in curiosity
And response in responsibility
For zero chants.
My notes entail police officers commandeering
Your car and fining you
If you dare refuse.
And skateboarders hating scooters riders
And every death-defying trick they do
Is made fun of.
Breakfast smell like crayons
Because I breathe art
Until I realize that countless contests are rigged.
My faith is bigger than my failures
Like hugs during mid-sentences,
Realizing when clothes are sprigged.
I’ve lost sleep and salaries.
I’ve lost friends and families,
Writing for my endless dreams.