Unsung

There is no certificate you can obtain in becoming an artist 

You never applied for the position 

You work in sales on a commission basis 

Like sex work you sell yourself as product 

You have a few testimonials from satisfied customers 

But these are subjective reviews imbued with personal circumstance 

They are empirical truth of nothing 

The money you do or don’t make is no barometer of artistic achievement  

Glittery shit sells and greatness often doesn’t 

There are no catergoricals to be found in cold hard cash 

You could insist the prolific nature of your output is the proof of your pudding 

But you know quantity does not denote quality 

Nor are they mutually exclusive 

So the slimness of your cv is no signifier of success  

Thus you drift denied your definitive 

Like an addict only after applause 

An exhibitionist enabled by audience 

A crowd pleasing, precarious, conditional 

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