The Poetry Critics

poem after poem,
submitted for perusal,
submitted for sharing,
because that is the truth of submission,
to share one's heart, bare one's soul,
then they come,
the night crawlers,
the rock dwellers,
crusty crabs bored with their own fictious fantasies,
their fatal flaws seeping pus,
and they share it in the form of pure abuse,
we come with offerings to the masses,
not really seeking free passes
to the golden globes, the emmies, the awards banquet,
just to share,
and here they come,
those for whom the poems were not written for,
those for whom the picnic was not spread out for,
like little ants they take it apart,
the feast, the treasure,
and they drag it off to their queen,
who is she?
who posts on these poems just to make noise?
it cuts me that this is done,
not for my own fragile heart that is used to giving pieces away,
but for those who came once,
and torn,
never came again,
i say stand up,
just as they likely once did,
to get their hive,
make their voice heard,
find their "place" in a literotica world,
i say turn off comments on your poems,
turn off voting,
if you came here with a heart and wish to leave with said heart
intact.
do you know they criticized my poetry for its use of commas?
because
will shatner
talks
like this
and apparently
so
do
they...
i love will, i really do
but i'll use commas,
lots of them,
mindlessly!
if my poetic heart and soul so wish!
i've posted foolish poems here,
thoughtless contrivances created purely to test the illustration techniques and regular attendance of those who approve such things for us,
just to see,
i regret it,
but not them,
and do you know how hard it is to have terrible writing removed?
so i suffer my flaws,
my COMMAS!
aghast?
hardly,
for like all things we create,
we love our poetry,
weak, flawed, imperfect and uneducated as much as educated,
there are no rules,
silly ants,
silly shades and shadows that dance with glee like rumpelstiltskin
around a bonfire made purely from the efforts
of the poets,
those who came to share,
not to lose a piece of their pride or ego as they undoubtedly will,
but just to share,
how many broken hearts bare themselves out in words and rhyme,
and come here to be whipped?
and go home weaker than when they came?
poetry saves,
and it craves no specific idolatry or worship,
it just is,
so don't post on my poems,
oh wait, i turned comments off, voting too,
because of you,
they who would come and advertise some hive mentality,
feast on my crumbs as much as my tears and blood,
the soul that truly went into every misspelled word,
every chastized stanza,
i say no more,
take your criticism elsewhere,
because it's truth you know,
that every poem you thunder and rain upon?
someone sends me a personal note of "i understand" and "thank you for..."
that if you didn't like it?
it wasn't meant for you...
go play...