The "Starving" Poet
Missing the emotion of his works.
Ever lost in his longing for financial and poetic stability.
He looks for his everlasting fill
Of artistic words that flow, but will never be heard.
Whom rests upon his throne of fabric and wood,
Slouching lazily over a desk
A stomach filled to the brim
But ever craving those elusive words, never finding them, ever…
He is the “starving” poet whom complains
He complains he is no good for his publisher
His publisher only gives him a quarter of his earnings in total.
He has no thought
No fucking idea,
He has it good,
Money from a company he will never visit
Filling his bank account faster than a middle class man or woman can pay their bills.
Yet he starves.
An everlasting disease for a man who may never think again,
Slapping words down on a page in which will be sent out and read
While the worthwhile poetry,
The ones no one will ever read,
Gone with the wind,
Because of people like him.
The ones that people make with their heart shall never be read.
They are starving.
From the tips of his parched lips to the bottoms of his $5,000 Nike sneakers
To the top of her greasy hair and the bottoms of her callous feet.
The poor poet will ever make better poetry.
Thus, is the paradox
Of a Starving Poet…
@ellowrites @ellopoetry #poetry #freeform #freeformpoetry