My dreams will never come true.
It is useless to believe that
I am a good writer
Because I eventually realise
My work isn’t as brilliant as I thought
And I won’t fool myself thinking
There is great work waiting to be written
Because every day is proof
That I’m better off with a job that pays the bills
No words of advice will convince me
I can still be better at this.
Because despite what I thought
I am rubbish at stringing words together
And I have no reason to think
I can be awesome one day
And I know this because
What they say about dreams is a lie.
(Now read backwards.)