if in case i never get published
i have reminded myself
countless times to never
look up to it anymore,
i already understood the consequences
of having dreams or ambitions
so i have given up on them
so i just write
and now that i am aware that
my writings won't get me anywhere,
i'll take this opportunity of time
that i still have to go on
writing all i could
under any of the present
influences out there to grab me
out of my seat into my
words.
i never had much of company
in the confines of my conformity
and the people i crossed paths
with barely stuck around
and if this loneliness if
i may assume it,
it's the main cause,
a mere dream animated into
my reality,
a curse in a form of distance,
isolation, in accordance to such
feat of why writers are born,
both great and hidden.
this is not such of a great piece
and i don't intend it to be
but see, i have the ability to
establish my sentient features
that most never value
in their entire lives.
what is this you ask?
what am i trying to achieve?
fame?
attention?
self-monumental establishment?
the answer is,
i've been writing all these years
yearning to hear
the roar of my existence
through words out of plain context.