Hey, the artist get over with it,
why not us unpublished poets.
And there are quite a bit,
just like me here I sit.
Versing out to a world unloving,
verse the wrong thing,
readers get to pushing and shoving.

In short no one's really interested in,
what another person has to say,
must less a poet his way.
Unless you're rich or a politician,
entertaining magical magician.
People don't even want to
listen to a cop,
try tell the police how to
do their job,
next thing you know their eyes sob,
victim of a thief who rob.
Cop even rhymed,
while he got slimed.
You got to lock your door,
or the thief will score.
When he bangs your head,
it will be sore.
Try holding a two way conversation,
you won't be able to get in an explanation.
Everyone wants to whine and talk,
get understanding for their plight,
whether they are wrong or right.

Go out and try to sell your work,
you'll be watched like a monkey beserk.
You'll feel like you're in a zoo,
oh you'll attract a few.
I'm a craftsman and painter,
as well as a poetic entertainer.
When I was selling my wares,
I got the monkey stares.
I made a little cash,
but not enough to stash.

Got into writing,
basically all it's been is fighting.
Even from family members,
wasted my money
during Christmas decembers.
Wrote a book got hated,
writing another unnegotiated.
Very few family click in,
I might as well be a
monkey in the den.
On display,
each and everyday,
even my own family look away.
So all you reviewers beware,
monkey's still have hair.
Even monkey's support each other,
but try sharing a banana with another,
you might wonder about
your own blood brother.
Hardly any of my family
purchased my book,
some wouldn't even take a look.
Took my oldest brother
five years before he came around,
then after her did
he tried to put my book down.
To my other oldest brother,
I don't even exist,
have you seen
Gorilla's in the Mist?

OnepoetGem