art has to tell the truth

so

what would a life
living for the validation of others
look like?

wandering

with an insatiable craving of praise

not to prove your worth,

but to make certain
you’re alive,

that someone knows you’re here

that someone knows
you’re on fire

-

could it be

as simple

or as sad

as a grown man
in a gym full of boys

sinking shot after shot
from thirty-five feet,

stopping to look around,

waiting

to see

if anyone’s noticed?