Shame.

There is nothing more shameful than the liberal arts
And the mental masturbation that says this and
That can mean anything if you
Twist the nipples of analytics
Hard enough.

And I don't want anyone to ever call me
A writer, or worse,
A poet.
Those words taste of stale sweat and pretension;
Someone whose words carry such weight
That panties will drop
With their meaning.

And there's nothing more appealing to me
Than to discredit another,
Established author.
I get it Jane (Austin) this novel should have ended
100 pages ago.