I don't wish that I were the best poet in the world
What life would that be to live?
For fame is the silent killer
That strikes in those carefree moments
The moments of honor and wealth
And a largely swollen ego
I would not want the people of the world
Criticizing my work
For I write from the heart
And my heart doesn't have the strength
To be repetitively stabbed at
I do not want thieves
Stealing my innermost secrets
Pawning them for pennies
When it is not money that I write for
I do not want groaning children
To study my works in school
Only to have sticky ungrateful fingers
Turning the pages of my life's ride
No I would not want this
I am happy being me
Content with the pleasures of expressing my
Feelings
Through words that are meant to be shared
But not broadcasted to an unknowing
Unappreciative audience
Humanity is not equipped to handle
What I have to say
Nor are they ready to accept me as a person
I am more than a name
Or a face in the crowd
And if you read my words you'll understand