poetry can kiss my over-it ass

ok, can i just vent for one fucking moment?
please if you can't stand bitchy moany blog posts just stop reading, get your self a cup of tea and read something interesting.

I HATE WRITING THIS DAMN POETRY

there, i said it. i hate even looking at my poem that i wrote (and yes, i'm still venting about hope and soul to ash) well, i don't even know if it should be called that anymore because its not even about that topic anymore. i have revised it so many times that seriously, i might as well name it, my lovely walk in the garden. how about, the birds chirp and wake me up each morning how fucking lovely.

so after revising it the second time (where devoe cut out every other word to give it a more poetic stance and not harp on the same thing over and over..) he looked at his creation and was like: (seriously)

"hm, now don't get me wrong, but still it's a little fucking morbid. like (making screamo noises) like it's pretty dark. i can't print it like this. the character was so sweet and innocent in the beginning and she seems to be just sucked into this as a victim from the very beginning. like we need to see her making a choice here. and what? so eating disorders suck, and so what? what's the point of your poem?"

the point of my poem:
dear my sweetheart mr. devoe,
the point of my poem is to experience the emotions of someone going through and eating disorder as i envision it, and in my own language. its pretty dark and morbid because it's a dark and morbid kind of poem. that's it. the point is to get across the loneliness and or depression of someone going through one, not to, as you said, "shine some kind of glimmer of hope throughout the poem just because the main character seems to be screwed from the beginning". my poem only covers a fragment of emotion that the character went through, and i'm sorry she not exited about her life being shot to hell. so yes, she is screwed from the begining and will continue to be screwed.

MY FAVORITE PART
(that i suprisingly am smiling at as i remember the irony of it all..)
one line in my poem used to read something along the lines of:
Her chains cut into their skin, the darkest place they feared
but he cut out every other word so it ran like this:
her chains cut into the darkest place
then he has the nerve to ask me, "so is this like a metaphor for a va-jay-jay?"

um- no. i did not write a poem about a "va-jay-jay" and submit it into my public high school's literary magazine, thank you very much. YOU cut it that way, so ask yourself, "what am i trying to portray by cutting out all of my students necessary words and twisting it into something slued and inappropriate? why did i feel the need to do that?"

this is becoming harder and worth more than i thought. now when i write poems i look through them with "devoe's eye" and i can't see them from their meaning point of view anymore. i see them as a bundle of tangled words that don't make any sense. because apparently when i try to describe loneliness it is portrayed like i'm talking about vaginas.

so yeah, you can see why i'm discouraged.