to put vibrators in your *****, to slap yourself silly. Next, they’ll be wanting **** beads. You’ll do anything
to please them so they buy your books and read your words. Poetry doesn’t sell the way *** does. You’ll do anything
for your art. But inside it tears you apart that you can’t be as lucky as others are. But still you know they’ll never bring you down. Still
you know despite the loneliness and the hurt that you are deserving of being heard. You are deserving of respect. You’re not
there yet but attain to be. And maybe you’re in good company with others who have exploited themselves to get what they want. Those who’d sell their soul to the devil for their art.