Ben John Smith

Big Shot

I spent 5 years
submitting
to every petty poetry rag
under the sun

Every online
wank fest you could
imagine

I groveled,

Sucked dick
for mic time,

Read to rooms
with an audience of
two

(Them two people
were other feature poets
waiting to read their shit)

I begged my friends to come
to my shows

I self published

I rotted my
bones with
a desperate
ink.

Then

After a few good years
being published
interviewed
and
getting paid

People
started to hassle me
for poems

And now I have nothing
to fuel me

No poems

No drive

No hunger

Nothing to write about

I’m a father

I’m no longer drinking
myself to death.

Haven’t been put into
a mad house

No black eyes
or a gaunt jaw

No gritted teeth.

Just bad poems
(Like this one)

And the good life.

The trade has been fair

But

I do miss the
way desperation felt

When I was looking for
it from strangers

And not the people
that I love.

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