Why I Write

When I work

I get a feeling of satisfaction.

I see the job is getting done.

I am happy that I can do the job.

 

Then, another sees it

And decides to compete with me.

I undoubtedly fail.

 

I would enjoy scooping the horse poop

Out of the stables.

I would undoubtedly get sore

Within a few hours of doing it.

I would fail miserably.

 

Then, I wouldn’t feel worth the dollar I was given.

I would feel useless, and not worth the money paid for the task.

Then I’d slow down,

And another person would come

He or she would do a better job than I could.

 

I’d feel even less worth my dollar.

I’d get depressed.

I’d quit the job because

I would feel that there is no place for me there.

 

As it would turn out

All I needed might just be practice.

Practice, but the fact that I would feel worthless

I wouldn’t be able to get the practice in.

 

Only because it would be a competition.

Only because I would get weak and sore.

Only because I know that I am not doing

A satisfactory job.

 

This is why I write.