I have been a poet a very long time,
I\'ve written emotions, I have written range,
Like My Dear Future Husband to Wretched Society.
It was always such an honor.
Yet, they want me to put my pen down,
To stop making art and study.
They want me to get better grades,
I think the poet is dying inside me.
I have always been a writer.
Ever since I read a poem from Edgar Albert Guest,
I picked up a pen and decided,
I\'m going to be better than the best.
They went me to shove this all away,
To shut it down and let it decay.
I\'m forced to abandon it all,
For a chance to be something good and tall.
And I admit, with my heart,
I want a life outside it too.
To be more than just a writer,
But now it just seems so cruel.
Literature is my translation,
It has been my saving grace,
It\'s the void for us to scream into,
A place we don\'t have to brace.
Start studying, or you will fail.
You will not have bread to eat.
And I understand, I truly do.
But I think my love doesn\'t want NEET.
It feels like having a newborn wretched from your hands,
While all you can do is scream and whimper,
Yet it is no consolation,
I was born to be a thinker.
Practicality always ruins whimsy,
I want to close the door and sing.
Yet what can I do but throw my art away?
To be another soulless machine?
-InsanelyHilarious