I don't know how to critique poetry. Every poem I read, whether in books or on the internet, always gives the impression of its own beauty.

I sometimes get the impression of beauty from the style of choice of diction and from the parables or figures of speech that are made.

And for this one poem, I want to comment poetically about wounds.

when we hurt broken hearted Our relationship with bolster pillows is getting closer not because I'm sleepy rather want to escape from the bitter reality of life

But wounds are the door through which light enters our hearts. never run from the wound until the wound becomes the antidote