I Don't Even Have a Title For This

.I DON'T EVEN HAVE A TITLE FOR THIS.

There are those who I know

Who would say my writing

Is really good. Even great.

But one is their own worse

Critic. When I come across

Praise like this I only

Smile and say "ya think so?"

For many years I ran

Around this town either

Alone or pulling favors

For somebody.

If I truly needed to get

Away I'd relax in the

Cemetery and pay visits

To the many dead I

Knew, Sometimes I'd

Sit in the Chevy Blazer,

Light a cigarette and

Stare out of the window.

Sometimes I'd read,

Sometimes I'd feel like

Shit for having nothing

To write about.

I was too ashamed to

Jot down many things

Like jerking off and

Launching my white

String across a

Paper towel.

I felt like a weirdo

If I wrote about nice

Tits and women

Sporting butt-huggers.

I didn't feel there

Was poetry in living

On a couch and

Possessing no game

Outside the front door.

Loneliness and desires

Of love were and are

Still subjects that

Have been cashed in

And overplayed.

For the longest time

It was work, weed,

Drink, a notebook,

Sleep, repeat.

Though I searched

For it, I never found

Any real light in

That routine.

There were times though,

Times where the poem

Made itself the golden

Goose I imagined it

Would be.

On some occasions

I'd sift through the

Many books I left

Laying around and

See that a few

Pieces were decent

And I almost couldn't

Believe I thought

Most of my material

Was nonsense; as half

Baked as my stoned mind.

My problem as a writer

Is getting into it and

Moving past my own

Judgment.

Not to mention helping

My people, reporting

To the "real" job,

And finding the best

Line by analyzing

The life, the dream,

The struggle, reality.

I cannot give advice,

Only examples and

Tiny hints.

True writers know

That this is all madness.

I'm sure some who I know

Will look at this poem

And say it's good - even

Great.

I'd rather them say

"It was honest"

But then again it's up

To them to like it and

Up to me to accept it.