Did Kristen Stewart Just Write The Worst Poem Ever?

There's a good chance you know somebody who thinks they're a good poet. Some of them genuinely will be talented, imbued with the kind of playful wordsmanship required to make people entertained and intrigued enough to proclaim their poems Great Works, but there's even more chance that these poetry chancers are from the same school of thought as Kristen Stewart. In an interview with Marie Claire, Stewart presented her latest self-confessed genius with the kind of modesty that we've become more used to as a fixture of Shia Labeouf's recent creative output. ''I like being able to hit on something, like, 'There it is." I don't want to sound so f**king utterly pretentious but after I write something, I go, 'Holy f**k, that's crazy." So modesty isn't part of her repertoire clearly, but is poetry? Are her words able to make other people say "holy f*ck, that's crazy" with similar awe as Stewart obviously holds for herself? Well, no, frankly. Stewart seems to be under the impression that writing something with all the gravitas of a high school homework assignment, and all the self-important "meaning" of a Bjork music video is profound art. If you can fathom what she is actually trying to say, you're probably a better person than anyone here, because it reads an awful lot like those Tweets you see from people with 6,000 followers, a gigantic ego and no sense of what words or their own colon-gazing profundity actually means. Here is the poem, in all of its "glory..."

My Heart Is A Wiffle Ball/Freedom Pole, By Kristen Stewart

I reared digital moonlight You read its clock, scrawled neon across that black Kismetly ... ubiquitously crest fallen Thrown down to strafe your foothills ...I'll suck the bones pretty. Your nature perforated the abrasive organ pumps Spray painted everything known to man, Stream rushed through and all out into Something Whilst the crackling stare down sun snuck Through our windows boarded up He hit your flint face and it sparked.

And I bellowed and you parked We reached Marfa. One honest day up on this freedom pole Devils not done digging He's speaking in tongues all along the pan handle And this pining erosion is getting dust in My eyes And I'm drunk on your morsels And so I look down the line Your every twitch hand drum salute Salutes mine ...

Attempted Translation For Humans

It's definitely about sex. Possibly. Something about the moon, then an ominous bit about the future, and very possibly an angry, disappointed blow job, which is probably the best type you could hope for from someone who writes this kind of poetry. Definite allusions to ejaculation, which apparently took a long time, because the sun is now coming out, despite the moon just having been there a minute ago. Is Marfa some kind of euphemism for orgasm? If so why is it dusty? There's something very wrong here. Please, Kristen, just stick to making poor films.