A Selfish Fool Of A Writer

I don't know which is worse
The fact that I'll write about a tragedy I'm facing and people read it and go "beautiful"
Some with an emoji even
Like TF, I'm talking about my life here.
Ain't nothing "beautiful" about it.

Scoffs

Or the fact that I'll take the time to develop romance between words
And paint the perfect Romeo and Juliet story without the original ending
And suddenly, the word "beautiful" becomes extinct.
I'd even go as far as to tell you of the swiftness of a kiss...like maple on pancakes and yet...
You don't think that's "beautiful"?

And for a moment, I wonder what beauty is
I contemplate if you even read, let alone understand my words, for you to call one beauty and the other...nada
I ponder and doubt the praises you award me
And think "What a fool I was to think you were genuine"
Then I applaud myself for recuperating fast to escape your deceit.

It is in my self-praise that I realize...
I'm no fool.
A selfish writer is what I am.
For within me is the power to write
To express in words what others can't
And yet...
I contest their courage to admit relevance
And spit on their intelligence of fathoming my words...their pain
A tragedy we share in common

Deep breath

Perhaps, a fool I am also
A selfish fool.
A selfish fool of a writer.

Ps, I’ll be reciting this and I’d like you to watch it. The video will be out and ready by or before Saturday this week, so follow my IG page so you don’t miss it.