Feel

I lack a certain feel for lines,

For what to say and how to time,

For what is news, and fit to print,

and what's a brag, where ego glints.

I have success. I wish to tell,

and if praised once, then feel compelled.

Perhaps my friends are too polite,

and I say wrong when I did right.

So next success, a second task:

Rather than tell, perhaps I'll ask

If people really want to hear,

Though such self-doubt abuses ears.