Arrogant

I sit and type,
Straight away,
Without pen ever being set to paper,
It suggests that I have confidence in myself.
No I just want to write,
I just want to have as many things written as possible,
Surely eventually it is going to get better?

These were meant to be a set of poems that showed a progression,
A raw ability harnessed and projected for the world.
How could I think such a thing?
I don’t even work at it,
I am caught between two personas,
Complete confidence,
Complete expectation of failure,
I am not enjoying what I am doing.
I feel so frozen and stuck
Isn’t there something else I could do?
I can’t get a bloody job,
I don’t want to study books,
And I certainly don’t want to sit in this room alone anymore,
I have you,
But you aren’t always here,
Yes I have you too,
But lets be honest you’ve never really been here.

I am just so confused,
I was going to be famous,
An actor,
I was really good at it,
Wasn’t I?
But I didn’t want it,
Its true I really don’t.
But what now?
A publisher?
A journalist?
Oh ye because I can just walk into them with a 3rd in English and American Literature,
Well put your head down and work harder on your degree then, you have time.
Yes, I know I do, I am aware of that,
But I just don’t enjoy it,
I am not enthused,
Not the way I feel when I write or draw or get on stage or make a film,
They are the things I get really enthused about,
I love to paint,
Could I do that?
I know I am not really that good at it.
Just a hobby,
I am trying to be a poet, a writer,
But I fear it is about as good as my painting.
Shit, I hate being this age,
Especially at this time,
There are no jobs anymore,
There is no money,
No stability.
Christ am I glad I have you,
You make me so happy,
That’s what I need right now,
A bit more you.
But even then I don’t get anything done,
I am just happy,
And I am not sure what the hell to do,
Eventually you will see how useless I am,
How work shy,
How lazy.

No pen on paper, No corrections, that’s it.