He said he liked my poem
but space was tight
so many new submissions sent
leaving no room for mine,
these words of rejection typed
in hushed tones, a kind message of condolence
reserved for relatives of the dead
to soften the blow, but
spare me the bedside manner please,
I don't need standardised platitudes
to make the news less harsh. I am man enough
to face the truth: he thought it was crap.
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