You know, there are such things
As professional storytellers, people
Banking on stakes, arcs, and elevations,
People who work in teams to sell
Team-crafted stories with time-honed
Precision to the wallets of the rest of us.
We like their stories. They're well told.
They target parts of us like hunters
Target hearts. They slay us.
We lie down gasping, our own
Tales in our mouths, wondering
Why we can't be among them, can't
Sell our stories with blood and guts,
But no clear arcs, no pots of gold,
No way to connect to the masses.
We are the damn masses. We consume
Stories by the lead-shot bucketful,
Never realizing we are not what we like.
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