I don't get it

i get a few more books in the mail.

more poetry
for the masses. a Pulitzer prize
winner is one

of them.
the poet will go nameless.

i try so hard
to read and like what i'm reading.

but there's no blood
in it.

no feeling, no angst, or heartbreak
there's no

life lived. there's nothing
i can relate to.

no sex.
guts.
no broken bones, or dishes.
no shards
of glass.

no drunken nights alone.
no sickness.
no broken teeth, or broken
dreams.

no death or dying.

i feel my heart slow down
with despair
as i shake
my head.

if this book was the winner,
what were the others like?

the book is a warm glass of milk
as your mother
tucks you

in and then turns the light
off for you.

save me.