Dear Courtney T from Tennessee, Your poetry is killing me. Is it poem? Is it song? It's clear that something's very wrong.
It's just the same repeated tripe, I still don't understand the hype. A ripped offed emo ditty, fake, Does not a proper poet make.
A preoccupation with the hearse Lies tattered in your fractured verse, Which yet lacks thought and application Perhaps a lighter affirmation Could lend your work a bit more grace, Allowing you to save some face.
Valid poems show a life, Lit from within by honest strife Sans experience your doggerel song Rings hollow, base, recycled, wrong.
While I love the intensity of your work, it's vital to remember that an Alanis Morrisette CD, glass of vodka and a head full o' big ol' dreams will not make you the wonderful poet your fans (no, wait, fan) seem to think you are. Evanescence and their ilk are by no means fantastic in themselves, without your misguided attempts at imitation. Have a good one. Y'all
