Skip to the loo

I pay the piper, feed the beast,

Yet still not a seat at the feast.

Fantasy, sci fi, romance, drama;

Happy and sad, daddy and mama.

I write of love, I write of hate,

I write of lonely twisted fate.

I spin tales of fantastic lore,

Horrific tales full of gore.

My mind careens track to track;

Stop at mansions and dilapidated shacks.

I write of things I have known.

I write of things only shown.

I try to help and not to hurt;

Try to put out somewhat of worth.

Some few opinions they filter in -

Some a loss, some a win.

How do we get likes and clicks?

Make our story favorite picks?

Am I being too prolific?

Perhaps my stories too explicit?

Perhaps not explicit enough?

I really don’t understand this stuff.

Perhaps I genre skip too much.

Should my subjects not go Dutch?

I read others stories, poems, odes;

Commenting praise on each due node.

I know that probably I shouldn’t sweat it

Write for myself even if they don’t get it.

Still, I can’t help but want the attention

But that’s my own problematic pretension.

So I’ll skip off now to the loo

And contemplate life in this zoo

Then I’ll continue my merry way,

And say what my psyche needs to say.