done

I hate poetry because it tells me what to do,
when nights are too short,
and love far away.

…

I hate poetry’s insistence,
when the cooking pot overflows,
and love is too fucking real to forego.

…

I hate it when poetry allows technophiles,
to praise AI higher than silence,
and love reduced to mere sounds.

…

I hate poems that bring out the obvious,
the furniture’s stupid arrangement,
love exposed when the heart has no curtain.

…

I hate poetry for robbing me at point blank,
when my dick can write it better,
and love must wait another minute, until I’m done.