Poeteers

the cuts in my heart
storm clatter windowpane
shadows lurk a thousand eyes
a dream of years and sorrow tears
do you believe in mystic?
do you believe in complete/apart?

my dear Poeteers, you are boring.
it is clear to me you feel,
and think. Oh you have feelings,
yes you do, but not in the
abstract. Nor ideas of your own.
boo-hoo.
cups all emptied, vessels spent.

wisdom a bleeding heart, is not.

the truth is you are not your muse
you are not the subject of your poem.

think for a moment, imagine all
the death and war
the poor that struggle to survive
remember Sarajevo, remember Bosnia

do you really think your precious hurt
matters?

write your fantasies, your dreams
your sympathy salvation
penis vagina hunger, how you wonder
if it is He, or
if it is You
boo-hoo. how you want to be
discovered.

we already know you are in pain
that’s why you’re writing poetry
isn’t it redundant
to write poetry
about your pain?

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

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