Thursday, October 16, 2008

A Poet on Adelaide West

I've been trying to write a book since I was thirteen years old
and it's always the same old story:
about forty pages written,
then I tear it apart, editing it to death
before it takes its second step

Maybe bad intentions are slowing me down
I don't want to sit and write the story
I just want to be something more than the sum of my
pathetic pay stubs
lousy job title
relationship status
parents' pride

I take great gulps of distraction
sips of denial
casually watching the drama of my own destiny:
Will I be an author on the Danforth
or stay a poet on Adelaide West?

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