On Having My Poems Rejected From My College Lit Magazine
To Whom It May Concern:
I knew I was a poet and thought it too, or was it that I was not a poet and I didn’t know it. See, what the rejection has done to my brain. I don’t even know if I’m a poet who knows it or doesn’t. How could you not have liked, “Monks in Myanmar”? It was about those monks in freakin’ Myanmar who protested against their oppressive government, I mean it was inspired by a picture from The New York Times. So you guys passed up something that was practically published in The New York Times. Who’s laughing now? Not me, that’s not who. I mean you passed up some gems. There was a poem in there about how cold our house was, and how we liked to go to bars. Can you say zeitgeist? I know I can, and I say it as much as humanely possible. I meant to write humanly there, but then I realized that those two words are interchangeable. Do you know what they call that, Small Lit Magazine? They call it a synonym. Put that in your magazine, Magazine. Let’s see what else did you miss out on. I hope this isn’t getting too painful. Oh yes, there was a poem written like a letter to my now ex-boyfriend, you remember it started, “Dear M—-.” I did that to preserve his privacy for when the poem was published in your Magazine or The New Yorker, whoever got to it first, which turned out not to be you. A poem that looks like a letter written to someone who is now my ex-boyfriend, but then wasn’t even my not ex-boyfriend. Talk about post-modern. Who’s laughing now? Not me or him, that’s not who. My professor told me that in writing you have to learn to kill your babies, but I’m pro-life so I found something good and I stuck with it. I used the same obscure word two times in four different poems, so I guess you could call me the octomom. But you never called me anything, College Lit Magazine, although you did send me a nice little rejection letter telling me to try again next year. Well here you go College Lit Magazine. See if you can figure out that this is a poem disguised as an ironic letter disguised as something you might publish disguised as something you won’t publish disguised as your mom.