A Poor Poet's Blues

Contrary to popular belief
This is a business
So I write to eat
And my poetry
Becomes my meal ticket
Since I got fired from my job
When my pen meets my pad
This how I provide for self
This is how I make ends meet
So I’m forced to spit hot shit
Like Christopher KP
There’s “Pressure on my Pen”
To provide me with some dividends
Just so I can pay the rent
Never mind that extra shit
That nonsense
Because every cent that I make
Has survival engraved on it
And I’m a student
So when the bursar’s office posts a new fee
My pen must come to attention
On a writing spree
Before I get that $50 late fee
Because UGA don’t give a damn about me or my situation
Because nowadays an education
Means making money for those white collared folk with no mercy
And how do I eat?
I eat when my pen bleeds on the paper
And rapes away its virginity
To produce my poetry on that white sheet
That begets money
So I can afford to eat
No, not that extra shit
That nonsense
I’m talking Mickey D’s
And Burger King’s
As my 5 star cuisines
Because everything else is too expensive
And my pockets just can’t afford it
But I’m not whining
Nor am I crying
I’m just expressing my blues as a poor poet
But I got this spirit
That’s quite aggressive
So I know I’m gonna make it
Just wait and see
A couple of years down the line
When I’m sippin’ on some expensive wine
And sitting in a real hotel as I dine
This poem will have a follow up
Entitled, “A Successful Poet’s Testimony”
That will speak to my story
And enlighten the lives of other poets just trying to make it