I Refuse to Read A Poem "Untitled"

Even if I never write another piece of my garbage that I call Poetry I'm still a reader of such and stagnant pieces are just a breeder for contemptuous lust and soul sucking forms part of the Universe as such I absolutely refuse to read something Untitled It shits me completely that you can sit down and completely unload Emotions uncontainable Not just on a page Ink veins open and dripping but by making your fingers move making your brain communicate with extremities can be exhausting and still you lay bare - all your nakedness and angst and your happiness wrapped inside sadness and refuse it a name? What? You think after you've aired all your dirty laundry, hung your intestines out to dry, as you stitch together the cavity that once held your heart It's okay to simply expel your breath take a look at what you wrote and call it Art? Even though its nameless? I call it irresponsible to that which you gave birth and left it rotting in the ether with no title to ground it to earth

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Written by

helen

Australian

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