The new measure of popularity
Is not a matter of shoes, nor Chanel
But in how well you butcher poetry
Cheering, as your sad attempts at prose swell
Into the butter of public acclaim
You slop words around like chocolate spread
Mesmerized by fifteen minutes of fame
That fade like static before you hit bed
We remember Shakespeare, a pioneer
Who drove English onward, to graceful heights
They’ll remember you with shaken heads, jeers
Snipe over your clumsy tripe with delight
Poetry is an art, a discipline
Your diary entries, carcinogens
Great
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