-Oliver-

        "Have you talked to Jay lately?" Rob asks after hearing my poem

        Jay is my counselor. I'm a little pissed that he's concerned about my mental health. Mainly because I know he's not as concerned for that as he is the successfulness of the poem.

        "Rob, this is difficult work. It's a little more than just words. Sorry if it seems scarily sad, but it helps me. I guess I wasn't trying to 'connect with the fans' or anything with this poem. I am sorry." I'm not sorry.

        "Kid, I'm sorry but your poems aren't as good as they once were." Rob winces as he says this. Like it hurts him to say it. "I know damn well you can do better. And you know damn well you can write what you feel and still have people understand it in a way where they don't think your some attention seeking emo freak or whatever." He looks at the ground. "I mean that one poem, that one that Chris, the talent agent found you with? That was ass kickin' man! Your poems haven't been the same kiddo. They've been flat, and just, sad. Do we need to get you a, a poem tutor or somthin'? Kiddo, I understand it's what you feel or whatever the hell, but you have been writing for years, and if we want to keep making more records, we need better stuff kid. Things others can see. We want the people to see emotions, and images of things that were never things. You gotta be bigger than yourself."

        "Rob!" I throw my hands up. "Don't you get it? I've been trying too hard to write what others will like, that it's becoming so freaking generic."

        "Kid people like it when they think you're talking to them, or when they can relate. You can't write about nonsense! Your issues are a little un-ordinary." Rob's voice begins to hint an attitude.

        "It's not nonsense! It my life! It's everything effed up about the the world I'm living in!" I can feel my face turning red. I don't understand how he can't hear how idiotic he sounds. It's not fair. I shouldn't have to get approval of the poems I wish to publish. It should be my choice. Shouldn't it?

        "Nobody cares about how fucked up ya are kid. People fall in love with your poems because they can understand. Most people are generic. Most people have petty issues. And we want most people to listen to your poetry . Why can't you just write about generic things with the same emotion and energy that you write your problems with kid?" Rob is clearly getting annoyed. It's not like we haven't had this conversation before. "Why can you just write what others want you to write.

        "Because that's not what's happening with me!" I shout at Rob. I can't take anymore of this. I can't take anymore of him. He's pushed me too far. I am done.

        "Well you better find a way to make it about other people kid. Nobody cares who you really are. They want you to be who they think you are, exactly like them. Nothing less."

        "How am I supposed to deceive them? I am not a storyteller. I don't make up things for people's enjoyment. I write for myself, and people who cannot write, but still need to hear my words . Rob, I'm not a pop star, I'm a poet!" How can he be so oblivious of the douche bag he is being right now?

        "Unfortunately people like pop stars, and nobody gives a damn about poets. We need to make them give a damn about you!" Robs face is growing red. He is starting to get pissed off too.

        "What if I don't care if they give a damn about me?" I spit the words out with as much venom I can muster.

        "What!? You need them! Look around you kid. Ya got it made. Ya got the mansion, the paparazzi, the fans, the scholarships, the money! Nobody in their goddamn right minds would waste fame like that."

        "Well obviously I'm not in my right mind Rob."

        "Well you better figure out a way to change that." Rob looks down. I can tell he is done with this conversation. I, on the other hand, am not.

        "I can't do this anymore Rob. I can't deal with the world believing I am something I am not. I can't live a giant lie, I'm sorry." I turn around, walking towards the door. I am done with this fame. I am done.

        "Kid, wait." Rob stands up from his desk.

        I continue walking.

        "Oliver!"

        I'm out the door.

        "Oliver, c'mon!"

        I'm gone.