The Walk of the Unpublished Writer

Walking down the street, the man snapped his fingers as he sang to himself en route to the coffee shop, where he would work on his novel for the next four hours.

“Get those words out on that paper,

Get those rhymes said now or later.

Get the work together fast,

Make it sharp, make that shit last.

Don’t fuck around with much discretion,

Don’t be afraid to change direction.

Get it goin’, from the heart, write them words boy like they taught.

See yourself in that paper, see your story now then later.

Don’t get fearful, don’t be afraid, don’t regret the choices made.

This is it boy, let it be, this is the shit that needs to breath.

Don’t give up now, don’t give up last, don’t put that pen down on that desk.

Keep it writing, let it flow, get those fuckin’ words down bro!

Don’t be lazy, don’t get tired, don’t forget you’ve entered fire.

Don’t be hasty, don’t be crude, make that mix perfection’s brew.

Get to typing, get to printing, get those fuckin’ heads a’spinning.

Don’t be wasting, precious time, you’ll only waste both yours and mine.

Let gets it goin’, get shit done, write those fuckin’ words down son!

Get that shit down on that paper,

Let’s publish this then rhyme more later.

– Thomas M. Watt

The Lying ‘Artists’

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Weights are heavy, eyes are dim, vision blurs, dreams run thin.

Heavy losses too much to carry, sick of seeing social staring –

At those who like to prance around, look at me, this act I’ve found.

There are few artist out today, the few that are get shunned away.

Instead we look to those untrue, instead we honor the false that do.

How my heart bleeds for the artist, how much pain can one man harness.

What have seekers still got left? What trophy gives to noble quest?

When famous faces like to sing, when all good singers go unseen.

When true labor is ignored, when self glory becomes the norm.

Don’t confuse the two I swear, they are not close the art’s not shared.

If I tell you look at me, say to you I am something,

Run around and destroy others, seek to sin and get much coverage.

I am not an artist see, I am just a man who thieves.

But if I spend my time at work, if my art to your heart flirts,

If I can make you smile, if you hope just for a while,

If you look at what I share, if the artist really cares,

Those who look will not see him, those who look will not grow dim.

You will feel just as I feel, you will know the truth is real.

I can’t take this too much longer, I am so weak from goodness squandered.

Today the tables are flipped around,

Where famous faces claim profound,

They tell you how much great they do,

I hope you don’t believe them too.

Few out there are true to thee,

Few out there who make it big.

So please don’t confuse any longer,

Please don’t think the best is honored.

When your talent goes unnoticed,

When good work don’t get you nowhere,

Remember the crowds are all misjudging,

The greatest artist is always struggling.

– Thomas M. Watt

The Walls before Us

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A man with grass stains on his jeans and blisters on his hands fell down on the pavement. He hardly managed to catch himself, and even after he did, he dropped himself back down and sprawled his limbs flat to the black concrete anyways.

He remained there, lying face down, until a hand finally took hold of his. He looked up and saw the silhouette of a brown, curly head of hair.

“What do you want?” He said to her.

She chuckled. “I want to help you.”

The man used his hand as a visor to guard the intense rays of the sun, and her face finally came into view. She had thin lips, brown hair, and the sexiest hazel eyes he’d ever seen.

The man groaned as he returned to his feet. He brushed his jeans off. “Why do you want to help me? Nobody wants to help me.”

She smiled sweetly. “I want to help you because you are so close to victory and you don’t even realize it.”

The man grumbled again. “You’re outta your mind lady. I’m not close and I never was, neither.”

She laughed, and the two started walking together.

“Why can’t you see?” She said.

“What?” He returned, pressing his left eyelids nearly closed.

“Why are you so blind?”

“Blind! Lady you got no idea the problems I’m dealing with!”

She stopped him, put her hands on his shoulders, then stared directly into his eyes as she spoke. “And how many times before have you encountered a scenario you were certain could not be overcome? How many times before did you think you were finished, only to live on? Things are not as they appear. There is a way to victory, I promise you that.”

“Why? How?” He said at once.

She smiled sweetly. “Are you so lost? The why and how does not matter. What matters is that you go on in the belief that there is a way.”

The man shook his head, scoffed, then looked away. “Yeah, well… How am I supposed ta-” He began, before suddenly catching himself after looking back.

The lady was gone.

I never did a single thing in my life I didn’t at first believe could be done. And I never heard an interview where the person being questioned looked lost, out of place, and had no idea how they randomly wound up succeeding. Happy 100th post Wattie nation. When all hope is lost, place your belief in what is above finding you a way out. Watch what happens.

– Thomas M. Watt