A Note to All Aspiring Writers

If what you write is what you think,
And words and feelings are in sync,

Then listen to some small advice,
Before you throw that artsy dice.

Be careful what you put in print,
'Cause it if has a tiny tint

Of what must ever not be said,
The public, then, will have your head.

Beware, beware the fresh and new
Avoid the red line or your own skew

Comply and don't forget, conform,
To what is called the social norm.

Accept what is pushed down your throat,
And to the public eye devote

The tired ramblings of thoughts long thought,
You'll never write just what you ought.

For when you're thinking for yourself
You'll find your book put on no shelf

Be careful not to be unique;
It doesn't matter what you think.

BEHIND THE POEM:
I see so many books on bookstore shelves that, if not for their glitzy covers, would be sold as the same book. There is nothing original about them. All are about A. Vampires B. Werewolves or C. Vampires and Werewolves. It's tiring trying to find a book not in a series that I've already started. And what's more, 90% are trash. They aren't original, they aren't well written, and they most definitely aren't worth the paper that they're printed on. Do I have a problem with supernatural books involving supernatural creatures? No. One of my favorite series, The Mortal Instruments, uses this a main part of their world. The difference is, is that the story behind (or rather, in front of) the creatures is interesting, engaging, and well written. So please, take my poem as the satire it is, and think up original ideas.
---inspired by National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)---

Reflections While Sitting on a Curb

I sit down on the corner,
And watch people go by.
And as I watch them pass by me,
I cannot help but sigh.
I watch the groups of people
In couples, or in threes,
But throughout these swarms of people,
There's no one alone like me.
I tell myself that it's ok,
That I don't mind at all.
"How exhausting," I think, "to so constantly be
At somebody's beck and call."
I laugh as it hits me, "How lucky am I?
To live without some to care for?
To exist without cares, rules, or plans,
Responisbility-ha! What a bore."
I sit on the sidewalk corner,
"How carefree and happy am I!"
And my heart is cheered while my brain is sad,
Because it knows one of them is telling a lie.
I watch the couples walk along
The grassy path in the park,
While the happy pairs of hummingbirds
Pound on the oak tree's bark,
And I think:
"In this world, as big as it is,
How fortunate am I.
For I have no one to gaze at the clouds with
Or count up the stars in the sky.
How lucky I am, how carefree and happy,
How fortunate, how blessed am I,
Because, though I have no one to love,
I won't ever have to say 'goodbye'."