I hate your poem –
that spittle you call verse
The pustular oozing of emotional soothing
broken, gnarled and terse
I hate your poem –
and it’s childish rhyme scheme
Your dutiful pattern so beaten and battered
Like an unspeakable crime scene
I hate your poem –
in all its shallow banality
Faceless and bland, like laughter canned
Lacking sweat, grit, veracity
I hate your poem –
cause I can’t find you within
In all the words told, there’s no intimate soul
Empty and hollow, a mannequin
I hate your poem –
that you even think it artistic
Your half-thought rhymes thrown into lines
Like trying to feel a statistic
I hate your poem,
but don’t you dare cease
Your simple attempts, adolescent and dented
Are the only path to masterpiece
