my proudest stories, are left behind
my barest poems, left in the cold
i write about y'all sucking
and
you suck
you suck hard
milk that poem for all its worth
($0.24 maybe, at best?)
and i giggle, like every artist starving while feeding from their art
how little we really matter
how insignificant we really are
how hard we struggle to even cover the payment of existence
how we barely survive
but we are left, drowning in our own words,
searching
for the one tethered
the connection
buzzword like key
that will somehow make us feel seen, less alone, less disposable
is it a hashtag? the right acronym? a hit loop of a song no one knows who wrote?
how gullible we are to think any of it matters
how human we are to think we matter
where we each claw for a chance of fame and fortune but end up getting more scratched that anything else
how far have you clawed? who'd you take down to get here
how far did you go
have you hit bottom yet?
bounced into brick wall on a shiny pogo stick in an attempt to get higher
are you proud?
proud of what you've done and who you've become?
does it still feel like poetry if it's tainted with other's blood?
you tell me
or don't
$0.24 won't cover my rent anyways
About the Creator
Oneg In The Arctic
A queer storyteller and poet of arctic adventures, good food, identity, mental health, and more.
Co-founder of Queer Vocal Voices
Water is Life ✊
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More stories from Oneg In The Arctic and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Rose By Any Name
Just for you, my sweet, A red rose to start your week, To show that I care. [Author's note: This rose bloomed overnight. It weas so perfect in form , I had to send it to someone to remind them I was thinking about them. Out of that came this vey impromptu Haiku.]
By Calvin Londona day ago in Poets
Comments (7)
Witty, dry, brilliant, and a gentle genius that i have Come to expect from you
your incisive wit is matched only by your clarity of concept. nailed it again, oneg. fame, understanding, recognition, legacy...it's all striving for connection in this utterly disconnected and disenchanted world. and we're all still just trying to pay rent...
Yeah, 24 cents sounds about right. What do I have to do for a buck?
I'd have to reach up to hit bottom.
Heh. Yeah. I feel this.
Ah the high pay of artist, which most enjoy having but hate to pay. But will spend hundreds to see people smash or toss a ball, hit a puck and crash into one another….I’m guilty of that.
This made me laugh!