They told me not to write for a living,
to do it for no one but me.
I never heard anyone say to the preacher
His sermons should only be written for him,
Find a congregation to listen
By preaching submission to birds.
I never heard anyone say to the teacher
Her lessons should only be written for her,
Find a classroom to listen
By teaching addition to herds.
For years now I’ve written
These words on a page,
And nobody reads them but me.
For years now I’ve kept the words hidden
For everyone knows they’re a joke at best
Something unreal from a past we rejected.
Now I sit in the dark,
Drink scotch from the bottle
These are the things I do for me.
I don’t conquer the demons for free.