I got a thousand upvotes in the last week,

All for one poop joke I told in worthless jest,

But, today I earned almost nothing to speak,

Despite putting my writing brain to the test.

What are these currents carrying posts?

I understand them not, for they are made

From the seas of living people and ghosts.

Some with hearts beating willingly trade

A mere click of their finger for nothing at all.

Others lurk in the waters, and never surface,

Which makes me wonder how posts grow tall?

Sure, those with pockets can openly purchase

Exposure for their posts, but I have to win fairly;

I want to see just how good my work really is.

I've learned that I do well when I write merrily

And say smart things like a philosophical wiz,

But there's a sweet spot I've found that's rare.

It's a dab of funny plus a dollop of education;

That can make most people come and stare.

It's so lucrative, I can make it my occupation,

But, alas, what difficulties I face mastering it!

What I think is trash is really enjoyed by many,

And what I'm certain is gold is pure, utter shit.

It makes me worry I will never earn a penny

For working so hard for so incredibly long.

If only I understood people, I could thrive,

But, I'm a schizo, so I must always be wrong.

Despite that, I will overcome; I will survive,

As everyday I take another step forwards,

No matter how tired or discouraged I am,

And over time, I'm making my way towards

Being good enough to not give a damn.

Critique One

Critique Two