The deepest you get is the grave you're digging for poetry.

Despair, anguish, woe.
This is how it feels
To read malformed words
Mourning tragic death
Of real poetry.

I'll be the first to admit that my above "poem" is hardly a mellifluous masterpiece. In fact it's quite an assault to the mind. But, at least I recognise that and don't try to purport it as deep and meaningful and a work of linguistic art. Because it's not. It's just a few words that I pulled off the top of my head and gave a forlorn countenance to. It's a far cry from inspired poetry.

You know what else is a far cry from poetry? The stupid scrawls that way too many stupid teenagers write and then post on their social networking sites and send to their friends and adorn their books with. You think that you are so tortured and that typing the word "misery" into Thesaurus.com and dividing the results into more manageable sized lines perfectly encompasses all that you are feeling. Not only is your poetry crap, but also, nobody cares. You may be sad, but your distortion of perfectly beautiful language into pseudo-emotive drivel makes ME sad. And when I get sad about somebody butchering English, I post incoherent blog entries.

If you are dispirited, eat chocolate. Don't construct unoriginal and ambiguous compositions. If you must channel your desperation into literature, please have the courtesy to make your creations structurally sound, avant garde, and compelling. If I ever chance upon one more poem about the tribulations that you chronicle so disconsolately, like nobody else has ever felt pain before, my brain will bleed.

Then again, I blog about the most mundane, boring topics. The fact that I even blog at all encompasses the conviction that I am hardly a literary genius. Maybe budding poets shouldn't listen to me- keep relentlessly posting your pathetic poetry and perhaps someone who cares will chance upon it.