Poems are crudely shaped.
They are stitched incorrectly,
full of lumps and holes that no one wants.
They are the ugly Christmas sweaters
meant only for a season.
Soon enough they’ll go out of style.
Poems are crudely shaped.
Lazy. No rhyming scheme.
Or cheesy : full of cliché everyone knows.
They are meant for the people to enjoy
yet they are filled with crap no one cares about.
Poems are crudely shaped.
Delicate silk of descriptive detail
now replaced with cheap threads
anyone can stitch up.
It’s the quality that counts.
Yet quantity is all anyone notices.
Poems are crudely shaped.
They once had a true purpose.
To understand, to change;
they held knowledge only seekers know.
Now they only talk about heartbreaks
as if it’s the only problem in the world.
