Seduction of Nuns, A Poem

Here's a goofy poem, more of a slam-type poem, I read last night at Word of Mouth at Bossa in D.C. I'm not really into the political/radical earth mother vibe they had there, but at least a few people laughed at this. I'm good at comic relief, maybe. Seduction of Nuns by Donald Illich I’ve gotten in the bad habit of seducing nuns lately. How I do it: I buy a cheap Jesus costume from a down on his luck prophet. Then I wait till it’s dark and all the windows of the convent are open on a hot night. Climbing vines up the wall, I ascend to the cutest girl’s room. Shh, I say. I’ve heard your prayers. I know you’ve had doubts. I’m here to place my blessing in you. Shh, it’s O.K., we’re married. Then, in the next few months, I write about unexplained visions of the savior, miracle pregnancies everyone winks at. I’ve long since burned my disguise, the beard’s smoke rising like a devil’s kiss.

Success?

Why am I driven so much now by the idea of success, by being recognized as a good writer by other people? Not that I don't work hard on my poetry, but it just seems to be written with one goal -- love and respect from strangers. It's probably the subject of a good poem itself. I have been having more success, but it doesn't seem enough. I always feel like I'm failing, even when I'm not. Too much envy, probably, not feeling like I'm doing well enough for someone who's 33. I know these are immature thoughts, but it seems right to acknowledge them so I can get a grip on my life. Probably everyone feels this way sometimes.