What the fucking fuck?

These are just aphorisms!

There’s no literary devices at all and completely banal observations like “I have a heart. Before you, it beat like a normal heart does according to science,” and look hey if you dig on it – that ain’t no thang but a chicken wang – you keep on reading and loving it and enjoy but got-damn! I don’t get it. You give me an Insta Poet writing this zzzzzzzzzz and I will provide you the name of writer you can read who shows (not tells!) what it means to express something hard/tragic/magic/beautiful using artful language, rather than pedestrian sentences enjambed for no good reason. I mean, not even any imagery, like the most basic of poetic devices – literally, “You were my dog, but I am cat person #poetryisnotdead.” Not yet, but you’re doing a bang-up job of killing it, motherfuckers!

Tears fall. Toilets flush.

(Sorry you had to bear witness to my breakdown. And look, I know from bad poetry. I’m the guy who wrote an entire book of sonnets about your mom and composed an ode to a miniature version of Milli Vanilli hiding out in my underwear drawer, but yesterday I clicked on an article about Instagram poets to follow for Poetry Day and I wish I hadn’t. Can someone explain the appeal?)