hate the art, like the artist

it’s not you, it’s me. I really
can’t stand your art. I’m sorry
because you seem fine
enough, when you talk
you turn into a real person;
still almost insufferably cute
and cutesy, but you appear
to be a human being
with thoughts and feelings.

when you sing you become
a China doll, an automaton
who never reaches
below the surface. you sing like
you’ve never screamed,
you’ve never ugly cried,
you’ve never been eaten your weight
in Doritos.

I’m just saying
your art would be so much better
if you were willing to let yourself
be real.

legless

as far as I know, you
have never read my music page
in the newsletter for which
I write, let alone
offered me feedback.
(you did happen to be
instrumental
in my obtaining
this unpaid labor of love,
but still.)

my album has been out
for over six weeks, but
you have yet to have
a listen, even though
it’s free to stream.
(you being notoriously
unwilling to spend one red cent
unless it’s to your
immediate advantage.
or shall we say, frugal
and good at living within
your limited means?)

either way,
when you claim
that I am being unfair
and cruelly callous
by unfollowing your blog,
I say, sir, that you simply
haven’t a single leg
to stand on.