These poems flow out of my fingertips.
Yet it feel a like most of these poems aren't good enough.
Am I good enough?

The thoughts start.
I have a drink and smoke a cigar.
Yet I keep writing about the same things.
Loss, friendships, mental health.
Can I make a book of just these.

Will it sell?
What if I wasted my time.
What if people hate my writing style?
What if I **** and people around me are lying.
I want to be a published author yet I stand in my way to do so.
Same with photography.

This poem isn't a poem.
It's more of a rant in poetry form.
Everything i write is useless.
Most of my poems aren't poems,
They are rants.

Maybe I'm the one wasting everyone's time.
Sorry...