I’ll never be chosen as Laureate
Or handpicked by my own generation,
To be a name the world should not forget,
Or voice of my home state, or nation.
Even though I pen what is real, and true,
They belittle me to the last letter
Because they cannot stand my point of view,
And I know things won't be getting better.
It is the Poet’s burden, I confess
To write knowing you’ll be called a failure.
But those who pluck Right Wing verse from their chest
Don’t get called “Poet”: they get called “Monster”..
I write what I know, and try to reveal
Our own point of view to give it some light,
But the snob elite don’t care how we feel
For the Right is wrong and the Left is right
But I write on, so my children can see
That I cannot be laughed into silence,
Nor is there a chance that I'll ever be
Made to apologize, or do penance.
So, read all my work, and say what you will!
Say it is soulless, and without merit!
Inform all your sheep that I have no skill!
Say what you will, I will grin and bear it…
I’ll be voice to the traditional ways,
And shall humbly serve as their outlet,
And in the end, when I run out of days,
I will remain my Family’s Poet.
