my poetic brilliance is nothing to boast about;
it is a curse
because the best poets
write with blood, sweat, and tears.

i hope to grow old,
someday,
and be ridiculed for my distasteful,
unwise poetry;
i won't need praise to fill a void in my heart that is meant to be youthful,
i shan't be fruitless and tired;
i will finally be happy.