Some poems are
just pretentious little things, with
forced rhymes
and depressing times,
overly spaced stanzas,
fruitlessly
trying
to
make
a
statement.
uncapitalized letters that whisper, “oh, how artsy”
alongside randomly placed periods that. tell. you. how. to. feel.
But they're just petty punctuations.
The spoken ones are even accompanied by
the off-beat knocks of bongo drums
and applauded with the ceaseless snapping of fingers.
But, please,
pay no attention to my attempt to bring your eyes
to the the things wrong with poetry,
as you might disregard it as just
another one of the pretentious teenage poems.