Nothing new can really be said. An individual can lay down an account of his or her own existence. That is all—and even then few will really care unless you’re Madonna or some other pop star. It could easily make one feel small or insignificant and that would be a mistake. Significance isn’t measured by a camera or a platinum album. It is measured by an abstract ethereal essence of being. Capturing the quintessence of life is fulfillment. But alas, few people see it that way. I shall bore them anyhow. It will get a load off my chest and them a reprieve from their drab existence.
lies we tell ourselves
quickly convinced that it's true
no new thoughts exposed
This could be deemed art for its own sake. It’s not. I am not trying to win an award. I am not going to blow a publisher to get a contract. I am writing for my own sake; for the sake of expression and making sense of this world. That is all I intend to do. Anything else that could come of this would merely be a bonus.
carry on the trade
spit out new words, new poems
repeat cycle jammed