yeah right, yeah right, you say.

come back when you’re noteworthy;

get good at something.

Jack of all trades, master of none;

stupid fucking failure had a good run.

you didn’t do this, didn’t do that;

didn’t do shit, sat on your ass.

I thought you were special.





you can’t just write, it has to be good.

it has to make sense, to flow as it should.

it can’t be too sunny, stow away your whimsy,

it can’t be too funny, your words will be flimsy.

and all this just so I can stay by your door;

golden boys glow, they can’t be ignored.

they have to be molded; look, your talents are

showing! gather the hounds and sink my

talons into your shoulders so you

don’t squander the gifts I’ve delivered.





golden boy, golden boy, don’t disappoint.

(but that’s my secret: I already have)

your forehead drips with what I anoint

(you’ve done so frequent that you leave no path)

a holy blessing, a favorite choice

(I’ll be a heathen if you spare your wrath)

we begin now, our efforts joint

(it’s foolish to reason, so don the mask)





(oh, but all this chittering gets

is a servant’s relief of airing

grievances. better not to try.

I’m sorry you came, I’m sorry

you wanted more from me.

In the end it’s the same story

as ever, as I give up, for I am

not so clever. I am not so special,

I am not so sharp. I have no blade.

I have no heart.

Jack of all trades, master of none.

when will this golden boy act be done?)





the place that contains the list of the containers of words