I write and try to avoid wondering
How can I sell this?
Who will buy it?
Can I coax dollars and cents,
some percentage of my rent,
with these words?
I know the answer is
not always–almost never.
Last night I converged with other writers,
spending our dollars and cents over happy
hour drinks to ornament the time
spent with each other.
I saw that we still survive and thrive together,
that there is a difference between
wanting to write for a living,
and living to write.
There’s nothing to buy,
there’s nothing to sell.
Just words to read,
stories to tell.
No, we don’t get paid–
we just make change.
narinda heng 
feeling you on the money. massages are free, i’ll invest one on your shoulders.
“there is a difference between
wanting to write for a living,
and living to write.”
beautiful. because the writing changes when you start exchanging words for dollars.
funny u bring this subject matter to the surface… its something im trying 2 encounter also… u ever try submitting ur work for contests? theres a lot of them – just have 2 b found…
great piece btw — of course!
This poem is beautiful in the last two lines’ lingering.