©. July 3, 2023. All Rights Reserved.
A critique with
Etiquette is complete,
But my eyes seem
Impossible to please.
I’m unimpressed with
The eyeopeners,
Sober-minded with
The fun-filled monsters,
And their unresolved love
For hating me.
I hope this message
Finds you fairly well
Like ambiguity
In your future.
Like there’s
Intelligible aspects,
I confess that
Some ignore the rejects.
Some are scoffed
Like seats in the clearance aisle.
I’m sorry I
Wasn’t smiling enough
Or at all,
However, I’m anointed.
Like I took a bullet
For bodyguards,
My God will protect me
In these yards
And I’m going
To heaven anyway.
They hurt like punching power
And punchlines
With repetition
And superstition.
Similar to occupations
Are dates
With affirmative action
And teammates
And leaders at The Great Debate,
They hate.
They’re coldhearted
And hotheaded critics,
Reduced to opinions
That can change minds.
Whether noisy or unnoisy,
They’re heard,
Pouting and doubting
Like it’s word for word.
Their eloquent speeches
Are noteworthy.
Like they’re flirting with
A train conductor,
She knows that you don’t
Own a vehicle
And like you’re flirting with
A bank teller,
She knows how much money
You can give her.
Everyone will critique you
In some way.
Like olives are
Actually a fruit,
Critics will think
You’re a vegetable,
Immovable with
A great sense of style.
Wardrobes were mocked,
Then made everyone smile.
Your sweetness can slip
Through your own fingers.
Why be left like
A single-bed hotel?
They may overcharge you
For being right,
But what if you
Had a mental illness?
Critics think they’re clever
Like due process.
Nobody wants to
Dream on a budget.
The pretense that
They’re struggling is sold
And the apprehension of hate
Is found.
Hate is unearthed with
Muscle memory,
Infiltrated like
A shy licensee.
Inevitably,
They embrace careers.
How they want more
Than bourgeois penmanship,
From elusive hope to despair,
They rise.
Their past differs, but
They have boundaries.
Have some dignity like
Loved refugees,
Then please and thank you’s
Can come from the youth.
Precautious children will lose
Their childhood,
Just as those trying to
Figure life out.
From ambitions to traditions,
Some lose.
Like opposing petitions,
They accuse,
Overstepping
Potential patricians.
They adapt to
Gratuitous insults
Like subjective humor
For resilience.
Sometimes, critics are
Really truth seekers.
Critics are
Motivational speakers,
Influencing someone,
Somewhere, somehow.
Rarely would I
Reconcile with a soul.
I can forgive, but
I don’t have to meet,
Speaking to you like
You’re my forever.
Like light emanates
In a saboteur,
It’s an eye rhyme full of
Challenged fables.
Critics, I’ve felt better when
You smooth-talked,
But am better when you
Told me the truth.
I’ve looked at letters while
You told the skies.
With pronounced shouts,
I can feel the outcries.
Critics have not yet
Loved me fast enough.
Isaiah Lawrence 