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.