I Have A Secret - Poem by Jesse Ellsbury
I’m a writer, not a teacher,
the worlds I care for are in my head,
I may live here now but I’ll live there when I’m dead
and my world will be waiting,
not the one I want but the one I have created
with my words,
you may have heard
that the afterlife is a realm for belief,
and there is nothing there that’s really concrete
til it’s too late
so I’ll believe in what I made
as I did in life, so shall I in death,
but at least I’ll be familiar with what comes next.
With every interaction you shall ask thyself:
Will this experience be one I can write about
or will it fade into the swamp of time
like cowardly witnesses of a crime
that might as well never have happened?
Can I describe
in prose or in rhyme
the location and characters in every line
in a way that will be enjoyed?
If not, what’s the point?
Whenever you are chastised,
smile, nod, then bastardize
the bastard who sullied your name,
do not accost him, he’s not worth your blame,
but portray him in an unflattering light
as is every writer’s right
and make him suffer
or make him your butler,
and he shall serve you from day until night.
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