Please don’t gnash your teeth
And write about the depths of your despair, your
Please spare me your adolescent plunge into literature
And depressed solipsism
I don’t care about how anguished you are
Nor does anyone else
Even if they pretend admiration.
Do me a favor
Tear up your poems or
Stick them to your refrigerator with a magnet
Which will be as close to attractive as they will ever get.
Oh, and I forgot to mention how much I dislike
wistfulness and mild unease or
floating through a field of flowers.
Or lands￼capes that mirror your interior thoughts
I mean, be serious
Landscapes don’t say much but
If they say anything it’s definitely not related to you.
Or the sea.
Leave the fucking sea out of your pretensions
Unless of course you choose
To drown in a sea of melancholy
That’s okay in my book.