(content warning) Poem

[billy]

Opposite me are green leather seats.
(Now I am setting the scene).
Outside the air is cold and damp.
(Now I am establishing mood).

The girl behind the counter
hands me my plate of fried shit.
(But why do I call her a "girl"? is but needed
She wears hoop earrings,
almost as dated as the skin
on her weathered old face.
It's because the world "girl" word
has but one syllable,
and thus suits my silly rhythm). is this line needed?

Food is comfort. Love is pain.
"Fucking far out, my brother!
You should be a poet or shit." is this line needed?

Am I less pretentious
than I was at sixteen,
when I thought myself
above critique,
and my pen bled gold
and my penis came jade?
Do I still believe
such tripe?

I eat my bacon
like a boy eating bacon.
(Now I'm being self-aware).
I buy wrapping paper
then walk home.
(Now I'm being banal
deliberately).
My dad says something
mean and I cry,
in my room, so he never
knows of my pain.
(Now I'm being a tortured artist).

for me the poem should end here

Is this the best poem
I've ever written,
or the worst
to even be conceived?

i like this jack. at first i didn't like the title but i was wrong. apart from a few nits i mentioned, i think this is a publishable piece. other than those marked i thought every line was well written and solid. it felt original, the style and the words. thanks for the read as always