CRITIQUE WANTED The Workshop

RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
ANOTHER SUPER-AWESOME INTRODUCTORY POST:
Unless you're up for hilarity (usually of the cringeworthy sort), embarrassment (on my part), or actual advice-giving, YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ THE SPOILERED BITS. All the good stuff is unspoilered, and yes, my definition of good stuff does change, so that eventually a lot of what's unspoilered now will be locked up too. This thread's essentially just an open archive for most of my pieces -- but, of course, by open I don't mean you can sell any of this shit (without my permission), or take credit for any of my work -- and if you want to treat this as a proper showcase, again, YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ THE SPOILERED BITS.

BRAND NEW SUPER-AWESOME INTRODUCTORY POST:
Since this was a thread that also asked for critiques, I've decided to change this to a critique request (well, not really decided, so much as just learned about how, hehe), because improving this stuff is more important to me than simply showing off (well, at this point, really, archiving) this stuff. If you're gonna post a crit, try to keep up: that is, focus on the latter stuff, and, of course, on the stuff un-spoilered, which I've generally left behind. I only have thick skin when it comes to aesthetic judgements of stuff I made myself (especially on the internet), and hey presto! so I shouldn't mind any negative comments, as long as they're reasoned (not even well-reasoned; if they're not well-reasoned, I can retort, or ignore) and, of course, impersonal (this is poetry, not polemics). And please try to keep your stuff as comprehensive as possible -- again, the goal is to improve, not merely to know whether I should give up or not (which I won't).

SUPER AWESOME INTRODUCTORY POST:
This is less of a Showcase and more of a General Dumping Ground for most of my poetry. Some of these are pretty good, though, so keep on reading, visitor! And I guarantee you that I'm improving, albeit slowly.

She is My Muse [Ancient stylings: a little play on iambic pentameter and Elizabethan style]

She is my muse, and also sweet submission:
I see her both in beauty and in fire.
I love her when I meet her like a dear,
But when away I love her like a doll!


I enter her, then ravage and enjoy.
But when with her, I delicately act.
When far away, I burn her at my stake!
But when beside her, cool her with my grace.
I want her, need her, love her in both ways:
The battle rages in me, lust and care.


And sometimes, blurred these lines when both times meet:
My stinger hard when softness it requires,
Or thoughts of sweetness sicken in desires
A mess: confusing, honor-breaking mires!


Oh, but in sooth, how do I really love?
Love I with body only or in God?
Dear destiny, when shall you clarify
My soul's true stance on verdant fields' romance?
Frustration wracks my cold, Janusian mind,
While guilt consumes my heart like brilliant night!


But soft! What spark is this that my mind thinks?
Two ways thought I to solve this riddle hot!
"To catch her, then in love's chains consummate;
Or win her, then in lust's law fuck and wait"


But fear pervades within my tender heart:
The confidence for artful love I've naught.
And youth constrains still the hot-blood within:
Chaste wisdom holds me back from heated doom.
I cannot go perform these fateful tasks,
I cannot yet discern my love's true course!


And so, what dreams do come are once again
Kept lost and meaningless in joy and pain.
I must just wait til' age or fear don't hold
Me far and fast from my muse (or submission)!

Like the spoiley-above says, everything in spoilers is officially archived! They're still useful, so I can't really delete them, but they're not really the bits being, you know, showcased. So if you're just here to look through goodies that are all already presentable, and were written at the point when I started to really learn the nature of poetry and such, just skip the spoilers and read all the exposed stuff (unless they're obviously notes to myself or whatever.
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
Before the above, I really didn't know how I felt about her, so I produced this as some sort of vent fer my frustration:

[Commentary: This is a real hardcore rant, so there!]

Queen green, golden-eyed with greed
Heart red, Miss Ted, she pays a whore
She's dancing in the moonlight, like a queen
Queen green, pink-eyed with lust
Heart red, just like what I said
Misses is a whore
She's swimming in the moonlight, like a queen
Queen green, purple-eyed with pride (hey,
it rhymed)
All high, all high and hue and you
Mighty you
Ruling over all (including
My heart, your heart)-Heart-
Heart red, notice that thing flowing down her cheek, making her frown
She's drowning in the moonlight, like a queen
Queen green, green-eyed jealousy
Oh, I can't put in words how you've infected
Me, my mind, my words, my thoughts and works
Made me, in this day of love and warmth, a beast
Heart red, don't you enjoy it? The feast
Of lust and empty hate you cook within
Within myself, or you, or him who sympathized
With me, when I told him my plight.
See her, she's there (and not the subject of this poem),
She's beauty, kindness, hope, peace and love
Wisdom tried and true: nigh angel make be she
Perfection true, the apple of my eye
My green eye, Miss Ted's green eye, the whore's green eye
(She's being in the moonlight, like a
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
(Tentative title: Her History. The poem, long and, like most of what's gonna be posted by moi here, fecal, is hopefully gonna be in, like, four or five parts)

Prologue:
The first thing that I saw
Was Galileo's daughter
Kissing the sun
And producing me
The first thing that I heard
Was the crackle of the fire
On the hearth where next she lay
The moon
Enthroned on a Roman bench
Ensconced on the candelabrum
Of knowledge in books and scorn
The first thing that I smelled
Was lust
In the form of the release
From the heat of the sun
Of the Jovial moon's volcanos
Of your penises and idols
Of life's ever burdening hopes
Of God himself
Of book thieves and readers
Of pollen itching for a buzz
Of my itching equus
My ever itching equus
The white foam of hot madness
Pours out of its mouth
The first thing that I felt
Was your love
Which was thin air to you
Which I didn't know
Was the world to me
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
Part One:
I first met you
On a train
There, you smiled at me
And told me your name
I tried to act excited
To look like a diamond
For you to pluck out
But I didn't know
What I was doing
Neither did you
You didn't figure out the gambit
I didn't figure out the cause
We were both lost
Then the train stopped

I next met you
On the tower
You looked lovely, in your silver dress
I looked like shit
But still, you smiled
I didn't mind
Then, again, I acted strange
Like I was deranged
And now, you asked your silly questions
You revealed the hollow case
The empty cavity
That is the depths
Of your soul's uterus
I was filled with fire
The phallus in me lunged
And you were covered in its slick
You, appalled, left
I, stunned, died

The third day
Was in a conference room
Nothing happened
Nothing I remember

Next, it was a ruined tree
You were scared
So I fucked you
But you didn't know
Neither did I

Then it was a stone bench
You had a pain in your loins
And a louse in your hair
I offered to give you
Something to cool you down
Something to set you free
From all your pain
And all his misery
You say yes
And you sit down
But instead of stealing
What you do not own
I steal
A kiss
And the louse explodes
Turning your white dress
Whose Russian aesthete
Is locked in nymphetuous sense
Into the crimson gown
Of adulthood
But you do not know it was a kiss
Instead, you see
Locked on the bark of the tree
Where you did not know
That I touched your puss
And made you smile
A hair ball
Which came from your nose
And you want to take back
I pull it out
And stuff it in your mouth
You eat it
And leave me behind
Disgusted, not with me
But with that little something started

The key of C major
Heralds me to my home
Where, exhausted
From our days' loving
I lie on our couch,
Close my eyes,
And see the stars of my subconscious
There, I happened to notice
In Cassiopeia's place
Sat the lady Andromeda
With a now scornful eye
Looking at Virgo
Or, rather, the lack of her
For she hies away
With dear old Orion
Who sets off
And leaves his long but far away lover
The moon
For you

You destroyed my childhood
My innocence,
You Salome, with your dance
Of the seven veils
Or maybe
I did it to me
Finding not you
But the veils
As worthy of my sensual designs

But it was all only a dream
Like
The moon
 
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Fijoli

The Murderous Maiden
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Intermediate, Adept, Douche
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Favorite Genres
Hybrid Horror, Weird Fiction, and Sci-Fi.
What lovely words, and dark images I have in my head. Vivid vocabulary of yours is rather intoxicating, I love the poetry. Keep this up, I can't wait to read more.
 

RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
[Commentary: A dream! The images are generally literal, so don't think this is as symbolic as my later work.]


In a dark corner
Of Blueland lane
Was a yellow
McDonald's
Filled with brown fat
And green dough

Little men and women
Worked its mines
Showing how insignificant
Their lives are
Yet, oh, how kin
To oceans deep
The stories of their souls

There worked the girl
With raven hair
And locks for eyes
And cratered face
She stood there
No troubles in her world
Yet her world was trouble's end

She had gotten a degree
In something called
"Art History"
Which was, in reality,
The story of
The vagina
And she found no use
For knowing how to kiss a man
Like a pederast
So now she lived
In that dream of
The unlivened poor

No troubles in her world
She said, when she saw
My still-young face
Filled with youth's fat
And stuffed with disgrace
She was content
With exercising her fingers
In the delicate art
Of masturbating fries

She flecked a kiss of salt
And asked me of I me mine
But I found not my answer
Only the ubermensch
Crushing my heart
And opening up
The depths
Of my mosquito
As I reached for her hand
And she reached for mine

But words still flowed
Like honey to wine
Only she was spoilt
And I me mine was thine
Into mead and weed and reed
So that she undertood
Only that I was locked
In that eternal embrace
Between two moons
Or two lungs

And she held my hand so briefly
And then she was gone
Swept away by
A political joy
"My husband", she mentioned
Giving me a charming
Flirtatious smile
Before leaving me
To my mess

Then, finding her joy
I took it
And dressed up
In her iron mantle
And chains

I stuck myself
Into that McDonald's
Becoming wholesome dough
In hopes of finding
Mutual release
With the oils
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
Emmanuelle
Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, how your name rolls off my tongue
Like the boulder off the cliff to the hikers down below:
A long word, hard to utter, yet sweet in its release
And deadly in its approach.

Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, how many young lads
Have fallen for your charms?
How many men have you enticed
To lock you in honey
And lick you repeatedly like candy?
How have you used
Your massive, towering breasts
To capture men's hearts
And cause them to argue
About things as trivial as psychotic science?

Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, only madness
And nonsense
Is locked in you.
Loving you is like loving a river,
For if one tries to hug and kiss and fuck a river,
One drowns, or gets taken by the current,
But, once again, ultimately drowns.

Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, my words are nothing
Compared to your tent.
They are like a pair of wings;
They ARE a pair of wings.

Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, please
Give me the sleep that I desire,
Which is in your arms
And between your breasts,
Within your chest
Where lies no harm.
Your love.

Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle,
I love you,
But I do not know where you are.
In the madness of loving nothing,
Of celebrating the darkness of fate's wheel,
I have lost myself.
I write this ode to you,
This mess of meaningless words,
In the hopes that I may find you,
Unite with you,
And suck the love from your tender
Like a boy and his clementine,
Exchanging, in return,
More words
And seeds.

Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, dear goddess
I do not worship you
Yet I equate you to the gods.
I do not know
What fate made you known to me
Why God would let me see you
Know you are truth, perfection incarnate,
Yet not have you.
Perhaps it is punishment
For this adoration
For wrongs made in the present
And the future.
Or perhaps I am simply impatient.

Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle,
Who are you?
Where have you gone?
I have lost you
And you have lost me.
I am becoming mad because of you
But I do not care,
As I was mad before,
Now I am only madder,
Mad enough to taste of madness's mercy.

Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle,
You are here
But I am too mad to see you,
To unite with you,
To fulfill.
Would you like a grapefruit?
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
"Uterus"

There lies in front of me
An egg of despair.
It has no air.
It cannot breathe.

There lies in front of me
An egg of despair.
It has no air.
It cannot breathe.

I must release it soon
Or it will suffocate.
I must go find a way
To help it respirate.
I have to see to it
That life is brought to it.
This egg, it can't just rot.
This egg is all I've got.

There lies in front of me
An egg of despair
It has no air
It cannot breathe

There lies in front of me
An egg of despair
It has no air
It cannot breathe

(There is nothing but emptiness in my mind
Towering spires of thoughts and people,
But voices I do not wish to hear or climb.
Their towers are too tall and scary:
They do not feel like they're alive,
Only there to fill my world with stone,
The prism to my wisdom's ray of light,
Making rainbows that make me close my eyes.

I would rather stay, for ever and ever,
In this little glass box, trapped like an office-worker.
There are no words for me to say
All of my being and the beings in me.
I would rather be in this universe of mine,
Each crevasse in the matter of my brain is like
A rolling field, easy to run through and play in
In them my eyes are open, but are blind)

There lies in front of me
An egg of despair.
It has no air.
It cannot breathe.

There lies in front of me
An egg of despair.
It has no air.
It cannot breathe.

Oh, these nukes and aeroplanes,
Shelters for imagination;
This dazzling darkness,
Love's reciprocation.
I have to see to it
That life is brought to it.
This egg, it can't just rot.
This egg is all I've got.

There lies in front of me
An egg of despair.
It has no air.
It cannot breathe.

There lies in front of me
An egg of despair.
It has no air.
It cannot breathe.​
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
I actually want Uterus to be set to music. May someone do that for me? Please do something that's Bjorkist in nature. I suggest listening to The Comet Song or Virus for inspiration. [Commentary: or Vulnicura, Bjork's new album!

Anyway, yes, this is a song, and, with its redundancies and, well, lack of music, not as good a one as I'd originally thought. Suggestions welcome!]
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
I was thinking of Joni Mitchell's "Twisted" (from her album Court and Spark) when I was writing this in Math class just this afternoon:

There is something about the wiring of the brain to the eyes
Where (they say) one nerve is longer than the one that is right
So a man's never got his sight at twenty-twenty
We're all half-blind even before we're sixty

So when I say that you're pretty, that's only half-true
The you that I see is not the real you!

And of course, like the eyes, our ears are also broken
We can't hear them screaming at their fullest noise
So when you are a-nagging, I should think myself lucky
Only half of the annoyance is getting to MEEEEEEEE

So when I say I can't hear you, try screaming some more
Until your voice box is shattered to its very core!

But even though we can't communicate as should be desired
I don't think our relationship is in badness too mired
Coz' our friends say for a couple, we're both quite typical
It seems our standards should be lower than we think

So when I say that I hate you, that we shouldn't be together
It's just me being proud again, thinking the world's really better
Than it is.

Yes, yes, it is quite terrible. But I had fun writing it!
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
I wonder what I'll think of these when I'm, like, twenty-six or something (that is, when I'm no longer a hormonal adolescent)...

I'll probably be disgusted. xD

[I've only aged a year or so since this comment, and, well, LOL]
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
A "mash-up" of "Love or Confusion" from The Jimi Hendrix Experience's Are You Experienced? and "Trip Through Your Wires" from U2's The Joshua Tree. I'll make it clearer and less reference-dependent later.

I am a bull in a chinese shop
The shop is a restaurant
They desire my testicles for a nice soup
So I run around and breath tables

Only the two round things in my head
Are blind and hollow with chaos and malice
How could one find paranoia delicious?
Why would one desire my point-of-view?

And yet, here is Plato studying Socrates
While also gently pleasuring him
Is this love you give to me?
Or Jimi's sweet confusion?

I am a gangly teenager in a government office
The office is filled with computers
There are many wires on the floor
Connecting the hemispheres of the machine

I walk around, looking for an answer
Yet instead of a Trip Through Your Wires
I trip over your cables
And kiss the bony, empty floor

The student thus becomes the master
The answers to you I question and question
Is this love I give to you?
Or Jimi's sweet confusion?

We seem to have lost each other in each other
My emptiness is yours to fill
Your enigma, my own puzzle box
We have switched sides, minds, genders

You are the ugly thing drooling on the floor
I am the red-haired girl masturbating
I am a phantom in the dark
You are the ever-blinding light

And yet, you do not find me gross
And I feel you are all the more real
Are we in love, in true romance?
Or Jimi's sweet confusion?
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
"A Trip In Your Library"


I am under a quilt of skin.
In darkness, it begins.

Flashes
Of colors
All alike
All unlike
The world we know.
Oh.
I feel like I'm going to vomit.
Is this what they call a "bad trip"?
The world is spinning round and round,
yet there's nothing here I haven't found
outside the waking songs of mother nature, my dear guide
Flashes
Of colors
All alike,
All unlike
The world we know.
Oh.

I am under a wooden roof.
My mind is all aloof.

Flashes
Of colors
All alike,
All unlike
The world I've seen.
Oh.
I'm looking for a novel.
Is this how a rich man grovels?
This place seems like a library,
yet there's no light to read
the detailed prints and dialogues of our gods' designs.
Flashes
Of colors
All alike,
All unlike
The world I've seen.
Oh.

I am under a golden queen.
I wish I had not been.

Flashes
Of colors
All alike,
All unlike
The world that's gone.
Oh.
I see the warmest fire-light.
Is this the end, the final sight?
This house is like a film I've loved,
yet nothing here is worthy of
appreciation in the cities of man's sanity.
Flashes
Of colors
All alike,
All unlike
The world that's gone.
Oh.

I am under a raging storm.
My love is taking form.

Flashes
Of colors
All alike,
All unlike
The world of time.
Oh.
I find you.

Your hair is refuge from the cold.
Your eyes are vital jewel bugs.
Your skin is silk from Xanadu.
Your breasts are supple temple domes.
Your neck is heaven's heavy trunk.
Your arms are perfect birch-tree stems.
Your vulva is a holy dove.
Your legs are ever-solid stakes.

Your heart is graceful foolishness.

And all we do is talk to stop our lights from breaking out.
FLASHES
OF COLORS
ALL ALIKE,
ALL UNLIKE
THE WORLD OF TIME.
Oh.

I am under a waking day.
There is nothing more to say.


 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
I... do not know what to make of this. It's probably just my brain pooping.

The light you gladly call your home,
young one,
does not come from heaven's hosts.
This light, the canvas of my world,
young one,
flows out of my mouth
like a song.
Now, wake up, and be blinded!
The blind see more than they who see.
Pull yourself out of your heaven,
young one,
for your work is not yet done.

I fall down from my bed.
A spirit lifts me up
and cheers me on and on and on
with one more cup.
A dizzy shot
that breaks my head in two
and makes me want to not believe
that living in sleep is still living.

I am the darkness,
and my bosom is your world:
it rises when I breathe in,
it falls when I breathe out.

I fall down from a ledge.
A devil lifts me up
and beats and rapes and swallows me
like a wife.
An evil act
that cracks my ever-aching heart
and makes me want to discover
what the inside of a woman feels like.

The world you gladly call your own,
young one,
was not made by God for you.
The cosmos is His canvas,
young one,
flowing out of His mouth
like a song.
Now wake up, and be fooled!
Fools know more than they who know.
Flee your silly house,
young one,
for your home was never here.

I fall down from the sky.
An angel catches me
and draws his sacrificial blade
in one fell swoop.
The gorgeous blade,
he plunges into my enflamed spirit,
filling me with ecstacy,
making my penis erupt with pain.

I am the darkness,
and my bosom is where fairies play:
they rise when I breathe in,
they rise when I breathe out.
And I will never stop breathing
for I can never die
so the world will forever spin
in a ring.
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
A Trip In Your Library, Edit 1:

My eyes are under their skins.
In darkness, it begins.

I see them!
Flashes
of colors
all alike,
all unlike
the world I know!
Oh.

Reality's earnest embrace
Now chokes me breathless, out of place.
This world is spinning round and round.
I'm lost now, in these malformed sounds.
But then they form sweet harmonies of mother nature's plan.

Now I'm under a wooden roof.
This world seems all aloof.

I am looking for a novel
(I am looking for the devil):
A dream-born tome of heaven's cost,
a mirror to the Lethe-lost,
a detailed print and dialogue of the Lord God's designs.

I find it!
Flashes
of colors
all alike,
all unlike
the world that's gone!
Oh.

Now I've seen the threads of fate.
I have felt all love and hate.

In front of me is fire-light
This is the end, the final sight:
A paradise, a house of love,
a place of nothing worthy of
appreciation in the cities of man's sanity.

But heaven is for the dead.
I'm here all too ahead.

I'm cast out!
Flashes
of colors
all alike,
all unlike
the world of death!
Oh.

I'm still looking for a novel.
(But no longer for the devil)
For though I've seen the afterlife,
burns still my heart with awful strife:
a passion base with freedom's price unmade into a thread.

Now I'm under a raging storm.
My love is taking form.

In front of me is fire-light.
Is this the end, the final sight?
I push and pull to your embrace;
I am choked breathless, out of place!
You're somewhere close, yet oh so far behind my memories.

But then I find you.

Your hair is refuge from the cold.
Your eyes are vital jewel bugs.
Your skin is silk from Xanadu.
Your breasts are supple temple domes.
Your neck is heaven's heavy trunk.
Your arms are perfect birch-tree stems.
Your vulva is a holy dove.
Your legs are ever-solid stakes.
Your heart is graceful foolishness.
Your words are solace from these rains.
And all we do is talk to stop our suns from breaking in.

But we lose!
Flashes
of colors
none alike,
all alike
the sky at dawn.
No!

I am under a waking day.
I have nothing more to say.
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
"Your Hearth"

Cold winds do blow o'er these golden hills,
through the trees so verdant yet dull.
The flames of my heart are quenched by the breeze,
by this shiver of loneliness.

Still I feel
the warmth of your hearth.

Thick mists of sleet blind the wide-eyed soul
from the roads unsullied by doubt.
The honeyed skies turn grey and black
as the sun is eclipsed by the clouds.

Still I see
the light of your hearth.

The birds cease singing their songs of joy
and the rustlings of leaves depart.
Ravenous death tempts the sullen mind
with a song of restful charm.

Still I follow
the calls of your hearth.

And I know that one day
I will find you,
I'll find rest by the flames of your hearth.
By love's diligence
or by fortune alone,
I shall stumble upon your hearth.

Til' then, I'll walk this lonely road
like an old dog to his end.
This winter spell shall batter my soul
and freeze my heart into glass.

Still I'll come
to the home of your heart.
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
"Your Hearth" (Cleaned a bit)

Cold winds do blow o'er these golden hills,
through the trees so verdant yet dull.
The flames of my heart are quenched by the breeze,
by this shiver of loneliness.

Still I feel
the warmth of your hearth.

Thick mists of sleet blind the wide-eyed soul
from the roads unsullied by doubt.
The honeyed skies turn grey and black
as the sun is eclipsed by the clouds.

Still I see
the light of your hearth.

The birds cease singing their songs of joy
and the rustlings of leaves depart.
Ravenous death tempts the sullen mind
with a song of restful charm.

Still I follow
the calls of your hearth.

And I know that one day I'll discover you,
I'll find rest by the flames of your hearth.
By love's industry or by fortune alone,
I shall stumble upon your hearth.

Til' then, I'll walk this lonely road
like an old dog to his end.
This winter spell shall batter my soul
and freeze my heart into glass.

Still I'll reach for
the home of your heart.
 
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RiverNotch

Sanguine Bile, Troll and Boy
Original poster
By the pony (what?), if you think any of these poems are actually fecal, whether in tiny, tiny, tiny parts (and hopefully only in tiny, tiny, tiny parts, as I am a stupidly vain person (so shut up, m'kay? I'm still talking (if it's not too obvious, this is a joke (this series of parenthetics, that is, not this whole post)))) or in stupidly massive wholes (as in criticisms extending not just to the poetry but also to the things that inspired them, nay, the universe which hosted them (not necessarily meanness, though)), feel free to post 'em here. I am very much open to criticisms, as however impossibly fantastic I can be at writing masterpieces (see? I am a stupidly vain person! :P), I know that sometimes (in all seriousness, more-than-some times, actually) I need correction.

Short, humorless form:
By the way, if you think any of these poems are deserving of due criticism (that is, criticism not extending to the character of the author (remember, the author is not always the poem's speaker)), then please, feel free to comment them in this thread, as this is a "seeking feedback" thread.

Back to the humor:
If you do think, however, that these poems are not only brilliant, but brilliant to absolute perfection, then please, feel free to stoke my ever-incandescent pride by liking (nay, loving) every single one of my posts, following my profile, posting multiple compliments on my wall, posting how perfect said poetry is in this thread (or in a new thread, which'd be somewhat better for my poetry), and most importantly allowing me to do whatever I want with you. And yes, that does include any sadistic fantasies of mine (or yous ;)).
 
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