The Truth About Tigers

A wealthy friend once told me
there’s no money in poetry,
no money in art,
as if profit were the point of a pulse,
as if value only counts
once it can be tallied.

It may be a cliché to say
art is the freedom
to spill what’s inside
without stopping to ask
if it’s worth the mess—
but clichés tend to survive
for a reason.

If money vanished tomorrow,
would you still do what you do?
That feels like the only question
that matters.

If the answer is yes,
keep going—
not for approval,
not for the outcome,
but because making the thing
is already enough.