THE FREELANCE WRITER'S LAMENT

I sit at my keyboard all day chugging Diet Coke.
When I'm not sipping, I am grabbing a smoke.
It's part of my job as far as I can see it
To sip and puff my way to an altered-state wit.

I'm just a poor, struggling freelance writer.
And, lord knows, my budget couldn't be tighter.
All "Help wanted freelance writers" posts I dutifully follow
Even when the "one dollar per article" jobs are hard to swallow.

Sometimes I may get the teeniest nibble.
If they want a different tone or style, I don't quibble.
Have computer will write.
Have skills and I am bright.

Mr. Publisher, hire me please.
I'll write about blueberries, goats or cheese,
Kumquats or giraffes, blackholes or face creams...
Anything, but leave me just a few of my dreams.

Writing is magic, not machine-made you know
So don't ask that I count keywords and go SEO.
Did Hemingway stick in words he didn't pick
Just to make more damn pennies per click?

In my off times let me write poems and stories
That have nothing to do with AdSense's glories.
I don't need to get paid by word for these
When my writer's lust is satisfied, there are no fees.

I'm just a humble freelance writer with hope
And as long as I can work for myself I can cope.
Today felt like play, and no work came my way
But I had lots of fun as for tomorrow I can pray.