Looking back at my scribblings,
I weep tender tears,
The ink vents at me,
It chastises me,
Denouncing my attempts at artistry,
I’m a sham,
I’m farcical,
A fake,
Trying at a craft that mocks my toils,
Playing at aptitude,
I can’t argue,
The ink preaches to my choir,
The writing only reflects my own thoughts,
In all of my inadequacy,
My words prove vacuous and dry,
The ink speaks with my voice,
Knowing I’m bound for inconsequence,
Only a charlatan,
Yes indeed,
But one that shall keep trying.
WorldofHarley 
a wonderful poem! Your not a sham at all your talented!
Thank you my friend. I had a bit of a weak day yesterday.
The Oldschool Harlequin
I agree with Carol Anne. You are gifted, indeed!
Thank you my friend. That means a lot.
The Oldschool Harlequin
A pleasure always. 😊
Just a bit of a low day is all.
The Oldschool Harlequin
Third that! You are talented.
Thank you so much. ☺️
The Oldschool Harlequin
[…] A Sham […]
There are days I feel very similar. You are not alone. And most definitely not a sham.
You are too kind my friend. Thank you. I just had a “weak day”, so to speak.
The Oldschool Harlequin
I prefer the term “catch up day”. Lol. Sometimes we have to vent, step back, and catch up with our feelings.
That seems like a much more positive way of putting it actually. ☺️
The Oldschool Harlequin