Life seems pretty
Plain with
Their faces so dull,
Arms so
Weak, the
Weight
Of the world
So heavy.

Suppose that it
Does get
Brighter beyond these
Black horizons and
Opaque words of
The mad.

Where will we be
Once the
Weight of
The world crumbles
Beneath
Mounds of
Saline tears and
Ashen hearts?

A LADY BOOK CRITIC WENT TO INTERVIEW
A LEADING JAPANESE AUTHOR - SHE WAS EXCITED
AT MEETING THE GREAT MAN AND PREPARED
MANY QUESTIONS WHICH SHE WISHED TO ASK HIM.

THE MAJOR INQUIRY WAS: 'WHERE DO YOU GET
YOUR IDEAS FROM? WHAT INSPIRES YOUR WORK?'
HE REPLIED: 'MY DEAR,' HE SAID, GIVING HER A
WITHERING LOOK, 'I JUST PLUCK MY IDEAS FROM
THE SKY AND IN MY EXPERIENCE NEVER WONDER WHY.'

SHE WAS VERY DISAPPOINTED AND REFUSED TO READ
ANY OF HIS WORK FOR THE NEXT FIVE YEARS.

PERHAPS CRITICS SHOULD HAVE MORE INSIGHT -
A LEADING TV REVIEWER WAS FULL OF FILM NOIR
AND FANCY WORD WHICH ONLY SERVED TO MAKE HIM  SOUND ABSURD.

When looking at yourself in the mirror,
Do you see yourself,
Or someone you hate?
Because artist are their worst critics,
You are your most judgmental viewer.
You are the person,
Who most commonly puts yourself down.
You are the person,
Who, when faced with
An open door of possibility,
Slams it in your own face,
Simply because you don't think you can succeed.
And how do I know these things?
Because someone had to tell me
The same exact thing.

If Overthinking was a contested sport
I'm sorry but I'm sure I'd have 8 gold medals and be endorsed
It's something I wish I was nowhere near as good at as I am of course

If self doubt was a state of mind.
That'd be a constant for me I'd find.
I don't know why, but I'm always quick to criticize
Myself, my playing of music and most of all my rhymes.

I guess if I was a film I'd probably be pulp fiction
Out of order and nonsensical to some,
But to someone with a similar sense of vision
My tatters would be silken robes
And she'd be Cleopatra maybe... I don't know.

I know you are good in assumptions
Your assessments are the best
Even the things only One would know
Because you are a fine judge
Who you think you are

But your judgment now is not
What matters at all

A kindly comment
Or a deadly thought
Can equally be delivered
But take a moment
A pause of time
To remember
How each one felt
When dealt

I like you.

What? *I like you?!?
No no no.
You can do way better.
That is too vague.
Put some.... pizzazz into it. Like this:

You are incredible.
I find it impressive that you can keep me talking for hours
And it doesn't bother you that I never seem to run out
Of things to say.
I think your hair is beautiful
And I love that you keep everything so simple.
Your smile shines, and I can't help but grin when I see you happy.
Oh, and you give the best hugs.
In short, I like you.
A lot.

...See? A lot better.

...

...

Why didn't you say that to her?!? Aaaaahhhh, stupid!
I give up! You're hopeless and you're never going to get her!

This poem is still a work in progress.... I need some thoughts... Is there anything I should reword or change?

A Visitor in the Morning Fog
Written by Adam M. Snow

Oh what a stage this morning break
Waking to a smoke-like sight
So thick it covers the dawn opaque
The freshly gold now blight
My heart is weak, I feel it ache
Upon this morning sight
Unlike the sun my heart don't hide
Nor in the fog it dwell
Even though and with my pride
This cruel heart I knew so well
Left me alone to stride
In this smokey hell
(more is coming soon)