I suck! Or at least that's what people have been telling me. Please help me with this poem. Constructuctive Criticism please!!
Mounds of Dirt
In the dirt the secrets lie. Buried like the past of disturbing memories.
The dirt is packed with the bugs who crawl in search for a home, their lives having no meaning to those few people who don't know how it is to be helpless.
Children play in the dirt because they have no fun, tears spilling down their checks because they are poor. The dead is buried in the dirt, because to some they no longer have a purpose.
Dirt has rocks in it, the bumps to show how long it took to form.
The mounds are dirt that have no beauty,just the brown stuff that everyone takes for granted.
They do not know that the dirt hold secrets and the lies of the living, why would the? Oh what stories the mounds would tell, if it actually could talk.
Please tell me what I need work on, probably everyone. I am probably more of a fiction writer and I don't even know if that up there can be called a poem. I have no idea anymore...I think I should just stick with fiction....Please help me!!
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