Raisin
Surrealists weep /Writing in journals/ Snort cotton candy /Sip their wine.
Bananas blacken / Hearts turn to brown vine.
Imperfect fruit of their soul / Rotting poems leave them cold.
Freckled skin / chubby butt cheeks / darn, male validation so unkind!
Rejection seeds a poetess’ bitter mind.
Even Queen Victoria knew this truth / don’t treat us like we are dumb,
No one taught you this time would come?
Calm down Raisin / tight clothes, and New York / don’t fit you either.
Whether we gather online or sever/ or to/ never be cleverly slithered
With print endeavors together Raisin / owe tether our dreams to the ether
And rise like a feather?
Fall flat on your fat face / Not stronger together,
Howling whispers of the roommate / He ran out the door / Moan no! /Never
Chasing sexy, slutty, skinny, horny Heather!
Pornographic free verses in traditional papers do not fair better
Than sci-fi / or fantasy / or erotica/ or self published/ literary fiction
Agents jet on first class / hunting what sells/ pure commercialization
Illusions of randomness/ failed regrets / a major contradiction
To the poetic stoned mask / It has a hang over / Power is an addiction
Focus on rejection / yet whining about perfection. Why? Waste time…
Rather tear down the glass ceiling of the monolithic institution,
That looms / Choking us with an iron fist / With its world domination,
No apologies found / In this foreboding poetic prediction.
(Note to readers this poem is a blend of surrealist and confessional poetry)
