What about the poets?

I'm trying to think of a financially rich poet. Nope, I'm coming up empty. Sanchez, Giovanni, and maybe a few others come to mind when you think of living, well-known poets, but they aren't in the same financial league as a Stephen King, Nora Roberts, or the industry known as James Patterson. People weep at poetry, are emotionally affected by poetry, but they spend their money on tripe such as 50 Shades. What about the poets?

A friend of mine, Krystal Rak, has been pushing me for years to try and get a job writing for Hallmark or some other greeting card company, in order for me to get paid for my poetry. It might make me a few dollars, but no one other than my mother saves greeting cards. In order to support yourself as a poet, you have to think waaaaayy outside of the box. You have to find new ways to show your work to the masses, hoping to coax a few dollars out of them. No, we're not whores, we just would like to receive compensation for our blood, sweat, and tears, which we have transformed into beautiful words, echoing the heartbeats of our souls. Poets make the ugliest things beautiful, and the everyday human existence into a masterpiece. So how come there's no love for the poets?

I think I'm going to pursue new routes on getting my work out to the world. Poems, I mean. I'm looking for a publisher for a finished novel, but I think I'm going to push the shit out of my poetry. Seriously. No, I'm probably not going back to doing live spoken word, because I get pissed when people talk on their cell phones while I'm speaking. I think I'll start recording my poetry for YouTube or for an album or something, but I have to do something. T-shirts, mugs, calendars, yeah, you might see my poems everywhere. I wonder if my attempts will make people realize poetry is everywhere, interwoven into the fabric of life? Probably not. Yet, the poets will continue on.

Shout out to the poets...