Sometimes I wonder why am I such a big fan

Of any good work, that I become such a stan

And end up losing my original plan.

I know I can create something great, I know I can

But I can't help but appreciate the best and be instead a fan

So much so that whenever I tried to think, my thoughts ran--away

Replaced by another man's ideas, who made a better case to stay

Look at what I wrote

Would anyone ever prefer this to what a real celeb wrote

Even though what they wrote and spoke may be just rote

From someone else, or from themselves of another time

It doesn't matter if you are real, having emotions is a crime

Why shall I make a new rhyme when I can hear dozens for free

Why shall I keep trying if others have already made it where I want to be

And are doing what I want to do so much better than me

Sometimes the direction of my thoughts make me want to scream

But its all good, it's just a silly old dream.