Fearless

He is cut from the same literary cloth
as those that came before him.
He reads much more than he writes,
clever critiques define him.

 

"Uninspiring, unpoetic garble",
inspired me to write of him.
My work he labeled "trite",
I wonder what’s become of him?

 

My "conjunctions" are a "weakness",
my "articles", of course, disappoint him
Suddenly, so aware of my limitations,
should I best keep my work from him?

 

Though his knowledge far exceeds me,
basic instincts will not fear him.
My words, are simply words,
I hold them dear, despite him.