Like Rupi Like Pizza

I tried both. Only one of them gives me indigestion.

“Hi, my name is Jess, and I don't hate Rupi Kaur's poetry. I mean, I don't like it...”

Everyone:

“Hi, Jess!”

Man with a very nice wool sweater:

“Thank you, Jess. This is your first step in admitting to the intellectual reading and writing community that you do not have good taste in poetry.”

“Well, I wouldn't say I love her poems. And I'm not even sure what defines poetry, to be honest… But she does write some relatable stuff, doesn't she?”

“Ok, let's take it one step at a time, why don't we? Now, as the representative for the Italian Culinary and Intellectual Community Worldwide, I must ask: Is there anything else you'd like to share? Before we move on to Giorgia there…”

“I am not sure if this is the right place to say this, but pineapple on pizza is actually ok.”

“Please get out.”

On Criticism, Context, and Cultural Snobbery

Everyone seems to be entitled to a life of criticism. And they are. We all are.

But there is a particular assertion of objectivity when titles like “Modern poetry is so bad”, or “Rupi Kaur and Lang Leav ruined poetry”, or “How not to be an insta-poet” circulate; titles that betray a limited appreciation for context and, quite honestly, a fair amount of ignorant snobbishness.

Understanding poetry and building a vast mental library of the greats takes time and effort, and it is deeply satisfying. Poetry, however, is a genre that has taken the backseat in readers’ minds for a while now, despite excellent work still being crafted and distributed all over the world.

One great example of erudite modern poetry is Louise Glück.

Much like Kaur, Glück often employs simple language—though with far greater nuance and remarkable depth—and a striking directness. She is also a master of what we treasure most in poetry: the ability to unravel emotion through vivid imagery and the unfiltered thoughts of others.

In Telemachus’ Guilt, the Odyssey, as lived through the eyes of a growing son, becomes painfully domestic:

When I was a child looking at my parents

I thought

this is happiness—

that’s why I was surprised

when it ended.

Plain-spoken. Devastating.

Instapoetry is often more direct, but that does not mean it never hits the spot.

Persephone, Glück, and Instagram

There are both strong—and admittedly, through my own biases, weaker—examples within Instapoetry that make for an interesting comparison to Glück’s work.

Since Persephone is a timeless figure who has inspired poetry across countless sub-genres, let her guide us.

Glück, writing from the perspective of Hades, offers:

When Hades decided he loved this girl

he built for her a duplicate of earth,

everything the same…

And from Persephone herself, in The Night’s Migration:

It is not the moon, I tell you.

It is these night migrations of the mind,

each night more interwoven with the next.

By contrast, instapoet Nikita Gill writes:

Persephone was never taken.

She went down to the underworld

willingly.

She wanted to be powerful.

She wanted to become

a queen.

On similar tones—but, to my taste, less successfully—Atticus writes:

she was powerful

not because she wasn't scared

but because she went on so strongly

despite the fear.

— Love Her Wild

Is Easy Bad?

I don’t think so.

If philosophers like Hegel or Foucault had written more accessibly, the world might have benefited greatly. Being proficient with language and rich in vocabulary is an excellent feat; if you have it, use it. But sometimes, skilled writers fall into the nasty habit of mystifying language or crafting cryptic sentences that ultimately say nothing of value.

For a long time, Rupi Kaur’s writing was easy to love for many, especially women and people who experienced trauma or abuse. What’s wrong with that?

Other instapoets feel especially accessible, often serving as an entry point to what many would call “real poetry” for young readers.

In an ideal world, we’d see more experienced, lyrical poets reaching those readers who crave clarity and simplicity, poetry that is both beautifully crafted and easy to understand. Some poets do strike that balance (Caleb Femi comes to mind), but the widespread popularity of Instapoetry is not solely the fault of writers or readers.

Poetry simply isn’t made accessible.

Sales are modest. Bookstore sections are thin. Libraries don’t always showcase contemporary poets. It isn’t easy to stumble across the reminder that great modern poetry exists. We know the classics have merit—but not everyone can still connect with Byron.

Gatekeeping, Capitalism, and Hawaiian Pizza

In short, the success of “modern bad poetry” may say less about skill and more about failures in cultural education and promotion.

While I don’t particularly enjoy most Instapoetry, the world is far too quick to judge, and to forget context, accessibility, and differences in taste. Objectivity is hard to argue for in an art form as emotional as poetry. We don’t even fully agree on what poetry is anymore.

We forget history, too.

One of my teachers used to say:

“Jesus was seen as an anti-conformist rebel once—and look now, he’s used as the symbol of everything conformist and bigoted.”

Likewise, poets who are now canonical were once dismissed as unserious.

Charles Bukowski is a perfect example. Raw, gritty, crude—he was long rejected for being too simple, too ugly, not real poetry. Now he’s canonised.

I have a feeling Charles and Jesus would have shared a slice of Hawaiian pizza.

Complexity, Privilege, and Instagram Feeds

We often mistake complexity for value. Complicated things feel more impressive, even when they offer little in return. This bias applies to writing, food, décor, and nearly everything else.

Ironically, we oversimplify culture itself.

Not everyone grew up reading Rilke or Maya Angelou. Some discovered poetry scrolling through Instagram on a cracked phone. Many don’t have the privilege to carry that curiosity into bookshops. People work, study, raise children, and still find emotional release in reading Kaur or Atticus.

If they relate to it and enjoy it, would you really want to take that away from them?

Reading space-bar poetry after something like Femi’s POOR may be like eating pineapple pizza after ossobuco, but sometimes it hits the spot. Personally, pineapple pizza has treated me better than Kaur, but not everyone has literary IBS.

On What Social Media Is (and Isn’t)

It would be incredible if social media were filled with lines like:

His lupin fields spurn old

Deceit and agile poppies dance

In golden riot…

— Maya Angelou, “California Prodigal”

But not everyone would get it, and that’s not the nature of these platforms.

Instapoetry has undeniably added new layers of capitalist ruin to poetry, but that’s the world we live in. Things that are liked become monetised. Pop music, pop art, pop poetry.

At the same time, poetry’s visibility has more than doubled since the rise of Instapoetry. Whether this is for better or worse is debatable, but gatekeeping art is no better than gatekeeping wealth or information.

Trying It Anyway

Right now, I’m reading Bluets by Maggie Nelson: a stunning, fragmented meditation on love and the colour blue. For this essay, I also picked up The Sun and Her Flowers by Rupi Kaur.

I land on:

a man

who cries

— a gift.

I understand the intent.

I still find it terrible.

I never meant to say critics are entirely wrong, only that they’re often elitist. I can be too. And yes, there are far better poetry books out there.

“Don’t knock it till you try it” doesn’t always apply. I won’t bungee jump or eat tripe. But dismissing simple modern poetry without reading it is like refusing Indian food because it isn’t Chinese, or like Italians trashing pineapple pizza on principle.

I’ve tried carbonara with cream and peas. It’s not it.

I don’t love most space-heavy poetry either—but let’s not confuse Instapoetry with all modern poetry. There is so much good work out there. Conflating the two does serious artists a disservice.

This was meant to be a defence of Rupi Kaur, and it is, in a to each their own way. But if you ask me? Not great. Still, why do we care so much?

If people like it, let them buy the books.

Are we bitter because Kaur made millions while others earn cents? Or because traditional poetry doesn’t sell?

Poetry sales were never booming, even when gatekeepers controlled the canon.

Instapoets may have introduced poetry to poetry virgins who later discover richer work and better lovers. Bad art has always existed. It’s just more visible now.

Like a banana taped to a wall.

Closing Thought

The key isn’t non-judgment, it’s suspension of belief. Review thoughtfully, not cruelly. If people enjoy something, why assume they’re stupid?

Some people prefer canned tuna to sashimi.

I’m still learning to accept BookTok, Twilight, and Fifty Shades. I feel the urge to fight them, but what good would that do?

Better to support and discuss what we love.

But what goes on in you when you talk about color as if it were a cure,

when you have not yet stated your disease.

— Maggie Nelson