<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Poetry Is Cheating</title><link>https://poetryischeating.com/</link><description>Recent content on Poetry Is Cheating</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en</language><lastBuildDate>Wed, 14 Oct 2026 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://poetryischeating.com/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>What Is Left</title><link>https://poetryischeating.com/essays/what-is-left/</link><pubDate>Wed, 14 Oct 2026 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://poetryischeating.com/essays/what-is-left/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;What is a man for once he has done everything he was supposed to do?&lt;/p&gt;&#10;&lt;p&gt;There are ways to measure a life: money earned, work accomplished, titles held, people who know your name. By most of those measures, I have done well. And still there is the question of what any of it was for.&lt;/p&gt;&#10;&lt;p&gt;Camus began with a simpler question. Why not kill yourself? He thought deciding whether life is worth living was the one philosophical question that truly mattered. I used to think it was a question for men whose lives had gone wrong. It is harder to explain why a man whose life has gone exactly to plan might find himself asking it.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>About</title><link>https://poetryischeating.com/about/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://poetryischeating.com/about/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Poems and essays by @PoetryIsCheating.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>