Whiners

I write poems because it's fun And I'm not the only one It's an outlet for verbal expression A hobby and not an obsession I'm an amateur, not a pro Thankful there's someplace to go Where others like myself Can write without seeking wealth An opportunity for me to learn Gain confidence in return Friendly contests sharpen my skills Winning is a personal cheap thrill Not everyone feels the same For people like me, that's a shame They're always causing dissension Complaining and seeking attention In their high chair, they bang their spoon Grown men crying childish tunes The food that once filled their belly To them is now tasteless and smelly I say, find another place to eat Let us amateurs compete Nobody's making you stay You don't play well with others, anyway Bland food doesn't suit your palate Over here you're wasting your talent Why stay here and eat slop Since your talent's so over the top