10.08.2017

What They Don't Tell You About Becoming a Writer

[For a brother in arms, Phil Bram.]


Your childhood's speed bumps
and sharpened learning curves
will become pen fodder
that you'll exaggerate as thrifty therapy.

Even if your dog ran away
at Fourth of July fireworks
when you were five
due to your dad's innocent mistake
on paper it died in your arms.

You'll do less wrong
than a politician's conscience
since there's got to be a hero
even here in hell.

A teacher or two
who nurtured your budding talent
will be verbally deified
despite the fact
that they'd now shake their heads
while reading the words that you sling.

Your siblings will be mirrors
and means to fix bad blood.

Your first true love
and every other fake to follow
is in for a case of typecast tinnitus.

Every time a piece is published
that praises or curses a bedmate
you'll taste the wrath
of your muse that same month.

Your father will be blamed
for his years of anguished absence
although his own demons
appeared and pulled their rank.

Friends and acquaintances
will fear what they say
since all is fair game
in your desperate twisting of lines
while pursuing an answer.

Colleagues won't fathom
your switch of vernacular
when you fall out of character
for fleeting moments of clarity.

The cadence of time
will be warped 'til surreal
whipped into submission
for the sake of your story.

Yarns too rife with grit
will have to stay untold
despite their priceless merit
saved instead for deathbeds.

Your mother, who secretly reads
to know her distant offspring
will hand you a bag of leftovers
with a handful of condoms in the bottom.

An editor will befriend you
enough to tolerate your trash
and you'll feel like a toddler
in the lap of his father.

You'll be accused of untrue desires.
You'll be denied the right to privacy.
You'll view the world through a different lens
and document its beautiful flaws.

People you cherish
will hurt for your alleged art
while you, the ignorant creator
will selfishly wonder why.

The biggest misfortune
the largest lie
omitted from the brochure
by gods who seek sick pleasures
is that you had any say in your calling

But if you're worth a damn
then you'll grin through the madness
and rejoice that you were born this way.


Currently reading:
"Glock:  The Rise of America's Gun" by Paul M. Barrett.

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