HEY, BABY...IT AIN'T YOU, IT'S ME

I remember feeling so free when I came to DUP.
I'd write a little something, throw it out there, and folks would "like" it or even comment , or at least read it.
Of course, I'd work hard on whatever it was.
Over edit, probably.
Worry over every word and phrase.
That part hasn't changed. It always amazed me that some people just seemed to text their poetry -- just write it on the fly and put it out there, typos and all.
The thing is, it was a boring hassle trying to get poetry published in one of those obscure online so-called magazines, and if one succeeded, there was no guarantee anybody ever even read it. Of course, if anyone did read it, it'd be another (likely aspiring) poet. Who else would scour the internet for poetry journals?  
So in that regard DUP was the same, only better. You picked the poem to post, and then you knew how many people read it, if they liked it, etc. You could...practice. Experiment a little. Get some feedback.
Sometimes encouraging.
Sometimes not so much.
I don't know what exactly has changed in that regard.
Probably me.
My expectations.
One can get stifled by the persona he's created. People like what you write, and you tend toward that. It's nice to be appreciated -- to know you have an audience, that people are enjoying your work. But that can be stifling as well. I can see why people need two or three personas here, or why they leave and come back as someone else.
Hit refresh.
Or restart the whole machine.
I thought about doing that.
I know if one comments a lot he generally gets more feedback. A lot of times I just don't know what to say about someone's work. In that regard, DUP reflects my life in general -- my social ineptitude. And sometimes my little (forced) comments seem redundant when there are twenty before me. I liked Poetspeak's solution to commenting -- "BIG LIKE!" Damn, I thought -- I wish I'd come up with that.
And sometimes, honestly, I don't get it. The "best" poetry is just okay to me. It just...sounds like poetry.
Which might be a terrible thing so say. Something is written in the "language of poetry," and it seems impressive because it sounds like poetry, but it doesn't touch me. Yet it seems to touch so many.
And of course, there's the sentiment expressed in poetry that often overrides the quality of the verse. Edible Words. I didn't agree with anything she wrote, but she had passion.
Anyway, as you can see, I'm kind of fucked up regarding my relationship with DUP.
I thought the cure might be to not give a shit. Just throw the poems out there like I used to. But then if nobody reads them, what the point?
Some of my favorites have disappeared over the months. Maybe they felt what I'm feeling. It's sad sometimes the way things change, evolve.
But they always do.
And there are always casualties. That's just the way it is.
Anyway...what the fuck?
J.