A Poem is Like a Pizza
Pexels.com A Poem is Like a Pizza A poem is like a pizza, which means you should take it seriously but not so seriously that you forget to enjoy it. The crust is structure—holding everything together, doing quiet engineering work like a bridge that also tastes good. The sauce is feeling, spread everywhere on purpose, not just dumped in one emotional puddle like someone tripped and spilled a jar of tomatoes. Cheese is language—melting across the whole thing, connecting every bite, stretching just enough so nothing feels separate or lonely. Toppings are details—pepperoni facts, mushroom memories, random olives of weirdness that not everyone asked for but somehow belong there. Too many toppings and the whole thing collapses under its own ambition, which is a real structural problem, and also a life lesson. Too few and it’s just dough thinking about greatness. You have to decide how much is enough, how weird is too weird, how bold you want to be with pineapple-level decisions that divide e...
