• Honestly, I'm saddened
    At what poetry's become
    An angsty, teary whine-fest
    on how you're now so "numb."

    Oh, your heart is broken!
    How shall you all go on?
    Your true love has left you
    and now you're so withdrawn
    from the world, and life, and living,
    laughter and feeling, too
    curse that man (or woman)
    for what they did to you!

    Yes, yes, I know,
    you write this poetry to heal
    But your rhythm's a disaster
    and your subject's so unreal:

    Your wings have not been severed
    and, you know, that is because
    you are not an angel
    and you never was!

    (And yes I am aware
    that wasn't proper grammar,
    and frankly, faithful reader
    I just couldn't give a damn-er.)

    You are not a princess,
    and he is not a prince -
    yours is not an "epic love"
    (in past or present tense).

    You thought you found the "one,"
    You thought you had it all,
    but now they're gone, that one
    and you just cannot recall
    a time when you were happy
    without them by your side,
    a time when you just didn't
    want to run and hide.

    But you'll find "the one" again:
    I guarantee you won't be alone
    You will find another sweetie,
    another love to call your own.

    And I'm telling you, in ten years
    you'll lose your beau again,
    but I'm begging you, today
    don't pick up that bleeding pen!