Write poetry.
If you have to, write bad poetry.
I do.
Write bad poetry and read it to your cats. They look unimpressed anyway.
Put it on the Internet and assume it is has been critically acclaimed by infinitely shy shut-ins.
Read it at the family Christmas party, where people not only have to listen, but have to act as if they like it. It’s okay, you know better.
Write bad poetry and post it on the bus stop. Better yet:
stand up on the bus,
read it,
thank the crowd,
bow,
and sit down.
If you don’t write bad poetry, the law of averages dictates that you are not writing any poetry at all.
And good or bad, this world needs poetry.
Please.
Write poetry.
Bad poetry.
