National Poetry Month, Week 2: Don't Dabble #Poetry

The poem I'm sharing this week doesn't have a title yet. Maybe it doesn't need one. I was reading someone's short bio online and I saw the phrase "the author dabbled in film making for awhile before..." and the word dabbled just struck me the wrong way. It actually made me angrier than I thought a word could, especially when there wasn't supposed to be anything malicious attached to it. But, that's what poetry is, isn't it? Exploring the unexplored depths of our souls. And my soul apparently hates dabbling.

- - - -

I dabble.

Pretentious.

What does that really translate to?

I have money, I do what I want.

That is, until I'm bored with it.

Or someone says I'm no good at it.

Rolls off my back, you know.

Rolls off, does it?

Down the hill, to a blackened pit

Where you collect all those failures

And tell people you've dabbled.

You took their spot—

The real talent. The ones who plead

To cut their arms off, sacrifice a first born

For the chances you buy.

Dabbling.

It's a loaded gun

To wield at those who dare question your value

Without using numbers.