Last Sunday, I shared a poem I wrote at Elizabeth St. Garden that was inspired by Tim Burton’s “The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Stories.” I wrote it around college and it reminds me of a time when I created for the sake of creating. What is work when it is not influenced by data, by what’s trending, by engagement? What is work that doesn’t ask: “Who will like it? What is its worth? Can this lead to something?”

I’m trying to imbibe Andy Warhol’s sentiment:

“Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.”

Here is the poem I wrote

It happens every 3am

A curse that separates me from them

When I wake up, all becomes okay

But the time before that, you must keep at bay

I transform into a crisp, brown strip

Of that much coveted part at a breakfast buffet trip

At home the only problem was my oily bed sheet

My parents were vegans; no taste for meat

To the world I was just a regular boy

Although in topics of the bedroom, I turn quite coy

I avoided all sleepovers for the rest of my life

Until the inevitable came—the first night with my wife

I made sure to woo the prudest of them all

For to wait till the wedding night is an order quite tall

I knew she loved me, she said so in her vow

I expected my secret wouldn't make a difference now

We kissed, we cuddled, and I then sealed the deal

But something I did not anticipate—the postcoital meal

As the time came for love's ultimate test

Ms. Prudest of Them All did what she thought was best

A fork and a knife approached from up above

The truth was for some, bacon was better than love

In celebration of Halloween, I will be posting a series of more poems, every week, in the spirit of Tim Burton ♡

PS: Elizabeth Street Garden is a really special place, yet its at risk of being shut down. Even if you don’t live in NYC, it’s a symbol of how to put up a fight for something you believe in. Find out how to help here.