master of pieces

when my youth could handle a punch
in the stomach from the clock yelling
it’s past three in the morning!
at least four nights a week
i would just slam some soda pop down
my neck and give birth to some sweet,
sweet “masterpieces”, nothing more than
regurgitated musings from my
professors’ school of thought
babyfood spoon fed back to them,
jerking off their egos
but slapping the wrists of my own
creativity with rulers labeled A, B, C
they would measure me by
i grew up thinking my goals
had to be complete, solid
masterpieces,
LIVE OR DIE!
i’m older now, the clock is a bit more
apologetic – or maybe i just don’t neglect
the time since i look after it a little bit more
and also feel it a bit more
and usually slip into bed by nine or ten
at least seven nights a week
i no longer give a shit about exquisite
masterpieces, for people to walk up to
to mumble oooooohs and aaaaahhsss, drably saying
this is worth more than a thousand words!
i’m learning to be a master of pieces –
it’s unheard of, in this day and age,
to find resolve and satisfaction with incompletes,
loose-ends, and a hardly livable wage,
but i find within those holes and gaps
i can fill them in with feelings and loads of other philosophical,
relatable, crap – and all is just as well
because i no longer count on others to tell me if
my art, my writing, my expressions, or even myself
receives a passing grade or fails

___
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: exquisite

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