Disillusionment with the Artform

I thought that nobody was writing poetry, that it was a dying art and I therefore had a free hand and could take time to hone my craft. I believed I was transmitting to a select group of people on one of the last available frequencies. I was pleased but I was complacent. Instead, it turns out that everybody and their uncle is broadcasting some kind of self-obsessed, semi-lyrical, mixed metaphor drivel with which they are clogging up the airwaves. All in all, I need to up my game pretty drastically if I don’t want to be caught with my metaphorical trousers around my figurative ankles. I feel like I’ve been striving to emulate Houdini all this time and, all the while, everyone else has been upstaging me, behaving like bloody Paul Daniels.