Complain about my life to internet strangers in an effort to get sympathetic comments that allow me to justify my antisocial behavior that creates these situations where I feel invisible in the first place.

Let’s be honest Madeline, this is a small sample size we are working with here. You said “Hello” to three people and they didn’t respond.

Maybe you could try again?
Maybe say it louder?
Maybe swap up the strategy, and smile and say hello at the same time?
Maybe, just maybe, the problem is that you cherry pick and construct these situations to build a narrative that absolves you from any responsibility for your own happiness.

“They didn’t say [hello] back.”
Why does your happiness revolve around getting the attention of a passerby?

Do you want to know why those people are smiling and you aren’t?
Because you chose not to.

Happiness is a choice.
But if your eyes always focus on the pessimistic view you’ll just sit and stew. And you’ll write lackluster poetry to boot. It takes work to be happy, and it starts with yourself. Try looking at the bigger picture, broaden your perspective, and it’ll help.

Instead of people ignoring you, just remember they are human, and are busy too. Instead of forcing happiness from missed opportunities, just look elsewhere, there’s more fish in the sea. Instead of doing weird manipulative assessments by creating fake instagram accounts, just go outside and meet people. Instead of pretending you’ll never find love, (although your use of “probably” implies you already doubt yourself) go seek it, it isn’t just going to fall into your lap. Instead of worrying about statistical stereotypes involving people assuming you don’t like spicy food, just tell them you’d prefer it spicy and move on. Instead of wondering why people are “idiots,” and blaming them for your own shortcomings, do the thing you want so desperately, empathize with them, and learn to forgive them for their mistakes.

Life is made up of moments, “sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind. The race is long, and in the end it’s only with yourself.” (Baz Luhrmann’s “Everybody’s Free [to Wear Sunscreen]”)

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.

By this logic,
**** is also beautiful.
A stunning mixture,
Of every color that entered your mouth
Of every food you eventually let out.

But more seriously,

Maybe they thought their eyes were plain,
Because they’re a realist?
Brown eyes are the most common eye color on Earth.
Clocking in at 55%.

“But let’s compare their aesthetic traits,
To something more unique,
In order to give the impression,
That we are deep!”

“Oh!
I know!
Mahogany!
Because wood is brown!”

Uhg.

I get it’s about perspective.
You want to appear to see something in them
That they don’t see in themselves.
To make them feel special.
And I’m sure they’ll like the poem.
And I’m sure other people will too.
And no one will think twice, or criticize you.

But your poem is boring.
And average at best.
Just like this rhyming scheme,
I use for the rest,

of my poem.

But that’s okay.
Practice’ll make perfect.
Maybe next time, write about the person?
And not just their eyes.
The relationship you want to express, is why their eyes are special.
Emphasis on “their.”
And why they make them special.
Emphasis on “they.”
Stop writing generic poems that fit everyone.
Write for the person whose eyes you lose yourself in.

I met a girl in high school.
She had brown eyes, with little specks.
As if genetics graced her with an aesthetic, that befit her the best.
She sailed from topic to topic,
Gracefully.
While I was lost in the islands in her eyes,
that cartographed the geography my mind began to see.

I’m glad her eyes did her justice,
Because her name didn’t.
Two syllables,
the latter a misspelling of coal:
Hands black after holding,
Soot filled lungs after smelling,
Bad kids’ reward for insolence.
She’s nothing close to that since,
She’s herself;
A country woman from a little town no one talks about.

We’d talk for hours.
We always could.
Until that bell rang,
And she stood,
up to leave.

I’ve made fun,
of every one,
For the last month
They’re all the same.

Always about love,
But never physical.
(Unless it’s two-sided)

Always about pain,
But never physical.
(Unless it’s self-inflicted)

Its always trivial.

Some love from inside,
Some pain from inside,
Never interesting just throw it aside.

Using weak words like "bad" or "good."
To create their concept of happy.
Using weak words like "good" or "bad."
To create their concept of sad.

If it’s love, its about falling.
If it’s pain, its about drowning.

Everyone’s cliché little space,
To garner some attention.
A measuring contest,
Of who’s the most in contention,
Of who’s the most in depression.

How about a new metaphor?
Something worth being in ink.
Why not write like a human?
You aren’t a robot, you can think.

Clean your palette,
and learn to write.
That’s my advice.

No one wants to hear the same thought,
The same way,
Every day.
It hurts my **** brain.