I want to be a writer -
and like a new poker player -
I'm starting to evaluate my cards.
I post on several poetry sites
I find syncing them kinda hard.
'Cause I'm the model of imperfection
heck, I'm the Edison of mistakes -
a teenager half-heartedly committed
to doing whatever it takes.
Does it help that I'm never happy?
That I constantly make updates?
At times I feel the proverbial cat
chasing its own tail -
but I think I'm making progress
- like a literary snail.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a very cute and engaging poem. Of course in reality you're FAR ahead of the pack already.