Talking Bird (Demo)

Today I was told two things
which intrigued me
and made me think.

One:
I was told my
poetry
was gorgeous.
That word,
gorgeous.
My wording brilliant.
Oh my, are those large words
for my humble
and not-so-great work.

I've yet to find somebody
who will rip my poems
limb from limb
and beat me with them
to make me angry.
To make me better.
I've been mildly frustrated by
comments made on my work,
but never
angry.

And when I'm angry,
I get shit done.
So I want someone to
tear it apart.
Tell me NO.
Make me pissed.
I want a challenge
to meet.

Two:
My teachery-friend,
for she is like a friend to me,
told me about book she is reading,
and the part of the premise I am drawing
on was that artists have an excess of
soul.

Were we accidentally given a little
more? Does more mean more suffering?
Extra sensitivity to humanity?

Weird to think,
are some people given too much soul?