I want to know if we can have both

Or are artists destined to write our dreams

instead of once stopping to figure out

how to actually live them

A poet must be lonely, depressed, alchoholic and married

to the craft

This is how we die childless

birthing a nation of art-eat-art scavengers

who think a vow of poverty and solitude is honorable

I say, find magic in your turkey bacon

And eat, Damnit!

how to fall out of love:

give up

on happy endings

give in

to base desires

let go

of all you sacrifice

lose sight

of what you thought you wanted needed

lose hope

for future with company

walk away

from a struggle no longer worth it

care too much

about that which you cannot control

expect too little 

of the one who should give too much