Craptacular

Image

I was ready, 

prepared in both mind and body,

I had entered into this room naked 

with nothing but a thin sheet of insecurities 

covering my poetry.

I was prepped

or so I thought

because when you began to slice into me,

I knew this anesthetic was a farce…

I felt everything

every nip

every dramatic stitch, 

as you removed my poetic soul

I knew this was the end,

end to my inspiration 

end to my drive,

I had hoped that you’d be gentle;

yet from the moment you picked up that scalpel

I saw my dreams dissected.

What was intended as constructive

turned out to be a sadist’s wet dream,

torturing

breaking

flaying my ideas with surgical precision.

In all honesty,

I never knew how absolutely atrocious my imagery was,

That my tone was flighty 

and my rhyme non-existent.

I never knew 

that I was so bad

until this “educational session”.

You promised,

promised that I wouldn’t feel much pain,

and trully I didnt,

this numbing emptiness that remains inside me 

cannot be described as pain. 

I trusted you, 

trusted you to keep my dignity intact…

its just me and this damaged poetry now,

permanently drafted,

 so, thank you!

There goes another scrap!

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