I am a lousy poet
evading rhythm and rhyme
expecting words to eloquently tumble onto the page

I am a lousy poet
a leech who longs for others’ poetic moments
only to craft them into my own faux experience

I am a lousy poet
who begrudgingly etches words onto a page
and whines about why I don’t write as much any more

I am a lousy poet
who blames my stubborn writing habits on politics (it just might prove to be true)
and wonders, “were all the famous poets also this lousy?”