Position:Home>Poetry> Do you understand this poem I wrote?

The people in my writer's critique group told me it was "bad" because the point to poetry is that it is understood and this poem is impossible to understand!. Thanks for your help!.

He’s My Heroin

the thing I can’t stop!.
He rockets through my virgin veins
like throwing rocks at swans
or clouds spiting snowflakes
down a wishing well!.

He’s my equation!.
Two times his age,
minus two equals my age!.
He’s neat like calculus,
dependable like the quotient rule,
complicated until I practice him!.

He’s my violin,
the thing I can’t play!.
He knows my tricks and squeaks when I lie!.
He chases me when I cry like
a midnight errand or a cue ball
pursuing on the billiard’s green lawn!.

He’s my viper,
courting me in the spring before the monsoons,
sliding his body along mine to woo
me with a flickering tongue,
to play as vipers play,
in warm nests in the sand!.

He’s my accident,
the frequent emergency room vacationer,
falling out of a pear tree and catching on fire twice!.
He’s impossible to stop,
like a present at a funeral
or a goldfish traveling the swirls of a toilet!.

He’s my heroine,
the thing I don’t want to stop!.
The one who stopped me
from wearing thumbprint kisses
colored like
rubies, sapphires, emeralds and amethysts

He’s my heroin,
with skin pulled perfectly across his bones,
only giving way when provoked
by the syringe I need to stick into him
to suck pieces out to inject into me
when I’m dope sick!.
I’d do it in a dirty bathroom
of a coffee shop in the village!.

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