Aug 2018
We know because we saw a title.
But you can’t write if you’re dead.
Your boring melodramatic recital,
Is better left unsaid.
It may sound harsh to bare,
But honestly, look at what you wrote,
And explain to me why anyone would care,
To read something so trite, and I quote:
“...confession,”
“...pain,”
“...depression,”
“...rain.”
These cliché nouns,
That every “injured” poet seems to wear for attention.
Don’t forget to take “drown!”
On your path to descension.
Where the people without regard,
Follow the herd of the uninformed,
They’ll take their poems up under their arm,
And expect to be warmed,
Showered by the masses,
Their beliefs confirmed.
While I’ll hope this passes,
And that this “art” is termed.
But I fear it’ll never stop,
If poetry like yours,
Continues to enter my inbox.
Like a bag of **** on my doorstep.
The doorbell’s been rung,
And god ****** I’m answering,
Screaming at the top of my lungs,
That this pandering,
Needs to stop.
But you can’t write if you’re dead.
Your boring melodramatic recital,
Is better left unsaid.
It may sound harsh to bare,
But honestly, look at what you wrote,
And explain to me why anyone would care,
To read something so trite, and I quote:
“...confession,”
“...pain,”
“...depression,”
“...rain.”
These cliché nouns,
That every “injured” poet seems to wear for attention.
Don’t forget to take “drown!”
On your path to descension.
Where the people without regard,
Follow the herd of the uninformed,
They’ll take their poems up under their arm,
And expect to be warmed,
Showered by the masses,
Their beliefs confirmed.
While I’ll hope this passes,
And that this “art” is termed.
But I fear it’ll never stop,
If poetry like yours,
Continues to enter my inbox.
Like a bag of **** on my doorstep.
The doorbell’s been rung,
And god ****** I’m answering,
Screaming at the top of my lungs,
That this pandering,
Needs to stop.
This is a response to the Poem of the Day on August 10th, 2018: “I wrote a poem” by Orange Rose.
I am quite sick of this contextless depression, that everyone and their dog seem to possess, like it is some fad with which to feel accepted only by measuring how depressed you can pretend to be.
If you are actually depressed, help yourself and get help.
Just wallowing in the depression by posting lazy ABAB rhyme scheme poems isn’t going to heal you.
If you want to write and post a poem about depression, I can’t prevent you from doing it. Despite it being super popular to vaguely reference how sad, hurt, and depressed you are. All the cool kids have more dimensions once they wallow in their pain in public, like a child who cries for attention.
If you want to continue the ******* of pain comparisons, go ahead. I can’t stop you. Only you can prevent cringey slew of overused metaphors and spoonfed emotions that allow people to conflate popularity with quality.
I am quite sick of this contextless depression, that everyone and their dog seem to possess, like it is some fad with which to feel accepted only by measuring how depressed you can pretend to be.
If you are actually depressed, help yourself and get help.
Just wallowing in the depression by posting lazy ABAB rhyme scheme poems isn’t going to heal you.
If you want to write and post a poem about depression, I can’t prevent you from doing it. Despite it being super popular to vaguely reference how sad, hurt, and depressed you are. All the cool kids have more dimensions once they wallow in their pain in public, like a child who cries for attention.
If you want to continue the ******* of pain comparisons, go ahead. I can’t stop you. Only you can prevent cringey slew of overused metaphors and spoonfed emotions that allow people to conflate popularity with quality.
