It's probably a pointless exercise to crit a poem that the poet doesn't like, but then again, I prefer pointless exercise to the proper, energetic kind
Everyone's complaining about how adolescent and preteen it is, but I honestly think that's missing the point. Are you guys trying to tell me that you could write something deep and meaningful about puppy love? I'd like to see that.
Basically, puppy love's meant to be flowery (oh okay, 'marshmellowy'), childish and a little bit embarassing, and that's what this poem is. And goddammit, as far as that goes, I liked it.
I have an idea about these voices I hear
They're audible to everyone
Everyone but me
These were autumn mornings, the time of year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, would let my mind wander over the whole world. — Rabindranath Tagore, The Cabuliwallah
