I am a writer.

I sit alone in my apartment
crying to myself
about my own
pathetic
sad
deprived
angst-ridden life
and then I blog about it.
Sometimes I like to read aloud my pieces
to my four cats
whose names are
Billy Joel
William Shakespeare
Athena Artemis
and Max.
On Friday evenings, I go down 51st Street
to a little café
that has a really nice open mike night
and a really cute boy that works behind the counter
serving espressos.
Maybe one day I'll write about him
and his blue eyes
and his black hair
and his skinny jeans
and his crooked smile.
But I'll never be with him
in this pitiful life
of mine.
For I am a writer.