THE DAMN AUTHOR

The damn author, me, who hears me

I’m screaming the ink but to no avail

When my eyes open, words fall out

There they are on another white page

Some have meaning, some just appear

Another day sick with too many queries

Another agent, another three chapters

The life of a penniless author continues

Check all three email sites, junk, phishing

The ink screams, but who hears my words

Readers say I’m talented but who knows

No one’s heard of me, the damn author

No money to promote, I remain unknown

Searching websites for  . . . something

An agent, a better publisher, the prize

I’m happy today, hell I’m happy everyday

Hard work and frustration sit by my side

Smiles, less painful then any kind of tear

Made myself a promise, I’d find a way

Even if it kills me, I tell everyone, listen

Writing, perhaps a mark of distinction

A talent bestowed through family genes

Or a way to be noticed in the world

The author narcissistic and egocentric

Or perhaps entertaining, enlightening

Writing my biography, the bittersweet

The great treasures that left me excited

Left me curious and animated with words

I pour myself into you, dialogue fascinated

I see you laughing, crying, turning the page

My dream is to fill your spirit with inquiry

To picture you visualizing yourself there

There, sitting enthralled by my characters

Getting to know them, the protagonist

Knowing you’ll soon have to say goodbye

You’re the leading role, my central character

Yes, I write about you and your poor choices

Your victories both minute and remarkable

Turn another page and we’re intertwined

Wait, is this charming character me or you

I chuckle at myself, the harebrained author

One minute frustrated, angry at publishing

Then ready to laugh as another word drops

Unheard and unseen, still I work at my trade

Words define me or do I define them, again, I laugh, I laugh