They ask me what I plan to do now,

Not because they care but as a test,

To see if I am worthy to keep around,

As something for them to brag about.

As they always do.

But when I won’t give such satisfaction,

And say only that I plan to write,

They must ask further questions,

when I will no longer answer.

As they always do.

It is as I said, a test,

To see if I am worth their time,

For who could love an unpublished writer,

when they cannot profit on them themselves?

As they always do.

Ironic that it is only older generations

who ask such questions on my future,

The same generations that have failed

to provide mine with a future at all.

As they always do.

So when they give their silent nods,

The truth lies in what they do not say,

From this, I have learned to weed the garden,

For when they seek me after I bloom.

As they always do.

Pages: 1 2