I’m debating whether or not to publish my poetry. The issue is, badly written prose is whatever, it doesn’t matter. And it can still have meaning and be interesting even if it’s badly written. Bad poetry is unforgivable.
I just don’t want to be incredibly ashamed of myself in a few years
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse." - From “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by TS Eliot (via venept)