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 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,
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”.
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,
so, thank you!
There goes another scrap!