Is Modern Poetry Losing Its Soul? A Look at Megan Fox’s Pretty Boys Are Poisonous

Modern poetry has never been more popular — or more polarizing. When actress Megan Fox released her poetry collection Pretty Boys Are Poisonous in late 2023, it shot up bestseller lists, yet critical reactions ranged from effusive praise to outright scorn. The book’s success (a New York Times bestseller) suggests today’s audiences are hungry for raw, relatable verse. But the backlash from some quarters — particularly literary purists who favor a more traditional, painstaking craft — raises an urgent question: Is modern poetry losing its “soul,” or has the art form simply evolved for a new era? 

Let’s explore how poetry’s landscape has changed, examine the contrasting reviews of Fox’s debut, and consider whether Pretty Boys Are Poisonous exemplifies a troubling trend or just a different kind of poetic expression. We’ll also look ahead to how poets like Marjorie Gavan (author of the forthcoming The Prelude Girl) are keeping the flame of classic poetry alive in the contemporary scene.

From Page to Instagram: How Poetry’s Style and Audience Have Changed

For much of the 20th century, poetry was a niche passion — often seen as highbrow, complex, and inaccessible to the average reader. In fact, a survey by the National Endowment for the Arts found that the percentage of Americans who read at least one poem in a given year plummeted from 17% in 1992 to just 6.7% in 2012. Poetry, it seemed, was becoming a dying art for the general public. Part of the issue was that people associated poetry with the dense, complicated verses taught in school. As one commentator put it, “there’s a bit of a stigma against poetry,” thanks to English classes focusing on difficult classics, leaving many with the impression that poems are hard to understand and unrewarding to read.

That perception started to shift in the mid-2010s with the rise of “Instapoetry.” Poets like Rupi Kaur (author of Milk and Honey) harnessed social media — especially Instagram and Tumblr — to share short, free-verse poems that were emotionally direct and visually minimalistic. This new style was “made to be easily shared on social media” and often favored “popularity rather than depth of ideas”. In other words, the poems were usually brief, accessible, and relatable at a glance — the kind of bite-sized confession or aphorism that could go viral. Critics of Instapoetry note that it tends to “mimic…ideas” already popular online rather than push creative boundaries, and that its instant quality (both in writing and reading) can come at the expense of nuance. “Painfully, annoyingly easy to digest” is how one video essayist described this wave of ultra-accessible versefile-2gdwhpgu4ffarc8g1tbxuj.

Easy to digest or not, this approach undeniably lowered the barrier for readership. Suddenly, people who might have been intimidated by Shakespeare or T.S. Eliot were engaging with poems on their Twitter feed or in bestselling paperbacks with modern art on the cover. Remarkably, poetry sales doubled in 2017 compared to the year prior, a spike many attribute in large part to Instapoets like Kaur and her contemporaries. Of the 20 top-selling poetry books in 2017, 11 were from a single Instapoetry-focused publisher (Andrews McMeel). Publishers, seeing this trend, “took notice” — poetry was making money again, as long as it was the right kind of poetry. The floodgates opened for a new generation of poets who gained fame on social media or came from non-traditional backgrounds, often emphasizing personal trauma, empowerment, and free-form expression over the classical hallmarks of poetry like meter, rhyme, or layered metaphor.

This democratization of poetry is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it has given voice to writers outside the old literary establishment and brought poetry to millions of new readers. On the other hand, some worry that the art form’s “soul” — its depth, craft, and originality — is being sacrificed for marketability. The YouTube video essay “The One Woman Who Ruined Poetry (It’s Not Gabbie Hanna)” encapsulates this fear. While acknowledging that Rupi Kaur (the “ruined poetry” figure in question) “can make a poetic impact” and that simplicity itself isn’t inherently bad, the essay argues that Kaur’s massive influence has “changed the face of poetry publication for the foreseeable future”, as publishers now prioritize what sells over what might be artistically rich. “Who knows how many amazing poets are swept under the rug in favor of what will sell,” the narrator laments. In the eyes of traditionalists, the influx of celebrity Instagram-style poets risks crowding out those who write in more complex or experimental ways. Even everyday readers on social platforms have picked up on this shift — one Reddit user remarked that much of today’s popular poetry “reads like poetry for people who don’t like reading poetry.” It’s a scathing line, but it captures the sentiment that the genre has split: on one side, easily digestible pop-poetry; on the other, the intricate, challenging works that some might say contain poetry’s old soul.

Pretty Boys Are Poisonous: A Celebrity Poet Enters the Scene

Into this evolving landscape stepped Megan Fox. Known for her acting in blockbuster films, Fox surprised the public by announcing a poetry collection titled Pretty Boys Are Poisonous (published November 2023). Many were skeptical from the start — “celebrity poetry doesn’t have the best reputation,” as one reviewer dryly noted. Would the book be a vanity project coasting on Fox’s fame? Or could she prove to be an unexpected new voice in poetry?

Fox’s collection is a slim hardcover of about 155 pages, containing around 70 free-verse poems. The poems, as Fox herself described, are a “therapeutic out-pouring” of feelings about “isolation, torment, self-harm, desperation, longing, restlessness, rage and general anguish.” In short, it’s an unflinching look at toxic relationships and trauma, heavily inspired by Fox’s own life. Indeed, many pieces read like diary entries addressed to a harmful lover. (Fox has been open about drawing on personal experiences with abusive partners — and readers widely suspect many references point to her on-and-off fiancé, musician Machine Gun Kelly, given poems titled “snow white and the complacent rock star” and “a 32-year-old narcissist quantifies his crime”.) Throughout the book, Fox deploys imagery from Greek mythology, Biblical tales, and even demonology to cast her past lovers as literal monsters or devils. The syntax is simple and entirely lowercase — stylistic choices that evoke the Instapoetry aesthetic of rawness and informality. As Jezebel’s review quipped, “Fox might just be the Poet Laureate of the 2010s Tumblr teens” with her mix of melodrama, angst, and pop-culture-referencing titles like “manic-depressive peter pan.” In other words, Pretty Boys Are Poisonous sits squarely at the intersection of confessional memoir and contemporary Instagram-era poetics.

Crucially, the book sold. It debuted to strong commercial numbers, driven in part by Fox’s name recognition and the curiosity factor. Pre-release buzz even propelled it onto bestseller lists before it hit shelves. This popularity suggests Fox struck a chord with a segment of readers. Some fans found the poems cathartic and empowering in their blunt depiction of “female rage” and heartbreak. One enthusiastic reviewer noted the collection “deals with some super heavy themes, but the dark and sarcastic humor throughout is very on-brand for Megan Fox,” calling it “everything I thought it would be — in the best way.” There’s a defiant tone in many pieces — at one point Fox literally writes a poem consisting of the line “I hate men” repeated seven times — that readers attuned to the post-#MeToo feminist zeitgeist may appreciate as brutally honest. The relatability of certain lines also stands out. For example, Fox writes: “They refuse to listen to my words/instead they criticize the shape of my mouth as I speak them,” a pointed commentary on the objectification many women experience. Moments like these can feel “devastatingly relatable” for female readers, almost like sharing war stories about love gone wrong. It’s raw, it’s messy, and it wears its heart on its sleeve — precisely the qualities that have made modern pop-poetry resonate with a broad audience.

A Tale of Two Receptions: Literary Purists vs. Pop Poetry Fans

Where Pretty Boys Are Poisonous succeeded with readers seeking candor and emotional release, it failed spectacularly in the eyes of many critics and poetry aficionados. The split in reactions is stark. On one side are those who laud the book’s visceral impact; on the other, those who decry its craft (or lack thereof). The debate isn’t just about Fox’s book, but about what poetry should be in 2025.

The Critics — “This isn’t great poetry”: To put it bluntly, a number of reviewers with a more literary purist bent found Fox’s work shallow and undercooked. An early Reddit review from a bookseller who obtained an advance copy pulled no punches: “The poems are not good… I’ve seen better content out of middle school competitions.” This commenter — not even a professional poet, but someone familiar enough with the genre — was essentially saying Fox’s writing felt juvenilia. Likewise, a highly watched YouTube review (titled “Megan Fox’s Poetry Book Made Me Genuinely Angry”) systematically tore into the collection’s artistic flaws. The YouTuber behind that video, who approaches poetry with a critical eye, acknowledged that Fox’s book shows effort and a few bright spots, but was largely disappointed. They observed that many poems “feel very much the same” and fail to distinguish themselves. A common critique was Fox’s heavy reliance on repetition as a poetic device — repeating words or phrases for emphasis — which the reviewer found unimaginative and overdone. “Megan employs quite a bit of repetition in her work, but it’s not great,” the critic noted, comparing it to “amateur poetry online.” With so many lines echoing the same wording, “it’s easy for [the reader] to just gloss over it, and the repeated words…lose any impact.” In short, what was meant to be poetic emphasis often comes across as tedious hammering of the obvious.

Several poems also struck the literary crowd as underdeveloped concepts. Fox flirts with interesting imagery and allusions — one poem compares women to Jesus Christ, “paying the price for sins [they] did not commit”, while another re-imagines the biblical Eve’s forbidden fruit as a metaphorical phallus — but the execution is often literal and heavy-handed. Subtlety is not Fox’s strong suit. Jezebel diplomatically phrased this as Fox’s text being “simple and, at times, saccharine”, noting that “Audre Lorde, Fox is most definitely not.” Even when the ideas have potential, critics say the verses often “lack…subtlety” and spell out their messages too plainly. For readers accustomed to poetry that leaves room for interpretation or layered meaning, Pretty Boys can feel one-note. As one frustrated commenter quipped, “It’s like someone let a Hot Topic 13-year-old publish a book of poems.” That searing comment (posted on Reddit) encapsulates the complaint that Fox’s poetry is melodramatic in a juvenile way — all angst, shock, and edge, with little refinement.

Another point of contention is the presentation and packaging of the book. Critics suspect that Fox’s celebrity status and savvy marketing played a huge role in its success. The hardcover is filled with artistic illustrations and lots of white space most poems are printed on only one side of each page, leaving the back side blank. This choice infuriated some readers, who saw it as an “unjustifiable” page-count inflator. “Using only one side of the page means the book is deceptively longer than it actually is. That's such a scummy thing for a publisher to do,” the YouTube reviewer ranted. The $26 price tag on the slim volume also raised eyebrows. All of this fueled the perception that Pretty Boys Are Poisonous was, to be blunt, more of a profitable product than a serious literary endeavor. “I question whether this book would even be picked up by publishers without the author’s renown,” the same reviewer mused, implying that if “Jane Doe” had written these poems, they might never have seen the light of day. This skepticism is not unique to Fox; any time a celebrity or influencer publishes a book, readers ask if it would merit attention on its own merits. In Fox’s case, the harshest critics are convinced the answer is no — that the book’s popularity is riding on her fame and on the current trend for confessional Insta-style poetry, rather than on exemplary writing. In their view, this is exactly what it means for poetry to “lose its soul”: the triumph of branding and relatability over craftsmanship.

The Fans — “Raw, real, and relatable”: Yet for all the critical eye-rolling, Pretty Boys Are Poisonous has its defenders and appreciators — not just curious Megan Fox fans, but even some literary bloggers and general readers who came away pleasantly surprised. On Goodreads and social media, many readers praise the raw honesty of Fox’s voice. “Heartbreaking…Go read the book, everyone,” urged podcaster Alex Cooper, host of Call Her Daddy, highlighting the emotional impact the poems had on her. A book blogger and librarian who reviewed the collection admitted, “I hate to say it, but this was ‘surprisingly’ good.” She noted that the book offered a window into Fox’s inner life and struggles, something deeper than the “sex symbol” image the actress is known for. In particular, readers who have experienced abusive or toxic relationships seem to connect with Fox’s candid depictions of trauma. One reviewer wrote that Pretty Boys “gathers poems that chart the grief left behind by almost-love”, full of “lingering heartbreaking memories” and even hints of post-traumatic stress. The pain on the page is undeniably real — Fox doesn’t shy away from describing bruises, cruel words, humiliation and self-loathing. For some, this unfiltered emotional truth is more valuable than polished metaphors or innovative sonnet forms. It’s poetry as personal catharsis and solidarity. “Everyone is fighting a battle that may be invisible to the world,” the blogger above noted, saying Fox’s book is a “gutsy and impactful” testament to that idea. In other words, even if the writing wouldn’t impress an English professor, the feelings behind it resonate powerfully with readers who have “been there.” The authenticity of Fox’s confessions — the sense that she truly poured her pain onto the page — is a kind of soulfulness, fans argue, even if it’s not wrapped in lofty language.

Some positive reviews also find merit in Fox’s stylistic choices. The Curiously media site gave a thumbs-up, noting the book’s “dark and sarcastic humour” and female empowerment themes. The reviewer appreciated the mix of language in Fox’s poems — how one moment she uses an almost florid, old-fashioned vocabulary (“winsome and diaphanous” in one poem), and the next moment drops a casual “I dunno” or a meme-y joke. This contrast between elevated diction and colloquial snark created, for that reader, a dynamic voice that felt true to Fox’s personality. It’s the same blend of high-gloss and irreverent that has defined Fox’s public persona. The Curiously review acknowledged that not every poem hits the mark — “they’re not all sparkling gems… there are a few rusty coins…filling out the treasure chest,” the writer admitted — but found “quite a few diamonds, too.” In particular, several striking lines and images stood out and stayed with the reader. For example, Fox writes about the agony of walking on eggshells in a relationship: “You’ll never understand/how painful it is/to always have to wonder/who I’m giving my heart to today.” Such lines, simple as they are, were described as “beautiful” by that reviewer, who felt they captured a very specific emotional reality elegantly. For fans of the book, Pretty Boys Are Poisonous shouldn’t be dismissed as artless Instagram rambling; rather, it’s a document of survival and self-expression that has genuine moments of poetic beauty. And significantly, many supporters argue that if a poem moves you or makes you feel seen, then it has done its job as poetry. By that measure, Fox’s collection has succeeded for a lot of readers who found validation or comfort in its pages. Even some who generally favor traditional poetry acknowledge that bringing new readers into poetry is a net positive. As one Reddit commenter in a discussion about modern “insta-poets” wrote, “I don’t love bashing stuff — if it helps encourage reading, that’s great, right?”. This more moderate viewpoint suggests that while we can critique the craft, we shouldn’t overlook the fact that accessible, emotionally direct collections like Fox’s are getting people (especially young people) to engage with poetry again. Perhaps it’s a gateway to other poetry, or perhaps it simply fulfills poetry’s core purpose — to communicate human experience — in a straightforward way.

Has Poetry Really Lost Its Soul?

So, is modern poetry losing its soul? The case of Pretty Boys Are Poisonous illustrates that the answer depends on what you value in poetry. If by “soul” we mean the artistic rigor, depth of metaphor, and intellectual challenge that classic poetry often provides, then today’s Instagram-fueled works can indeed feel like a loss. It’s easy to side with the literary purists when confronted by clumsy lines or by books that sell primarily because of a celebrity name on the cover. In the Fox book debate, you hear echoes of an older debate: the age-old tug-of-war between elitism and populism in art. Are poems meant to be finely wrought masterpieces to be studied, or emotional snapshots to be felt and shared? The ideal answer might be both, but contemporary publishing trends seem skewed toward the latter. As one video essayist warned, because of the market’s appetite for the easily digestible, “who knows how many amazing poets are [being] swept under the rug” today. In other words, perhaps some of poetry’s “soul” is being lost simply because those who carry that soul (the brilliant but difficult poets, the innovators of form and language) are getting less attention than they deserve in the Instagram era.

On the other hand, if “soul” means authentic emotional resonance, one could argue modern poetry is rediscovering its soul by stripping away pretension and speaking directly to readers’ lived experiences. In the centuries when poetry was seen as a high art, many people felt alienated from it. Now, poetry is on bestseller lists again, and it’s not because readers suddenly developed a craving for sonnets — it’s because poets are meeting them where they are, often in plainspoken free verse. The style has changed; the substance (human emotions, stories of love and loss) is age-old. And it’s worth noting that not all contemporary poetry is as bare-bones as the Instagram stereotype. There is a spectrum. Some modern poets manage to fuse popularity with craft — consider Amanda Gorman, whose recent book Call Us What We Carry topped charts while employing more sophisticated techniques and historical references. Even within Fox’s collection, a discerning eye can catch glimpses of genuine poetic skill (a clever turn of phrase here, a striking metaphor there). Jezebel’s review, while gently mocking in places, ultimately concluded that even if Fox’s delivery “airs on the side of melodrama,” “that doesn’t mean each word shouldn’t be taken seriously.” 

The takeaway: we shouldn’t be so quick to declare the death of poetry’s soul just because its popular form has changed. Poetry is a living art; its soul evolves with each new generation of poets and readers. What feels shallow to one might feel like salvation to another.

Bridging the Divide: The Old-School Poetics of The Prelude Girl

For readers who find themselves longing for the depth and intricacy of “the old style of poetry,” rest assured — there are contemporary poets keeping those traditions alive, too. One such writer is Marjorie Gavan, a Manila-based poet whose debut collection, The Prelude Girl, is forthcoming from HRBN Publishing in August 2025. Gavan, much like the literary purists we’ve discussed, is an avid reader, and writer, of classic poetry and brings a more elevated, nuanced voice to her work. The Prelude Girl gathers poems that chart the grief left behind by an “almost-love” — a relationship in which the speaker was merely a prelude to someone else’s grand story. In the author’s words, “I was a prelude girl, the person you’re with before ‘the one.’” Her poems explore clandestine desires, heartbreak’s strange rituals, and the slow burn of self-realization that follows heartbreak. Each piece, Gavan says, “unspools a voice learning to remember its own name.” The collection follows a narrative arc: a speaker who “starts in waiting and ends in motion — walking away, scissors in hand, severing the last thread herself.” Instead of begging for closure or wallowing in bitterness, The Prelude Girl records the unraveling and the quiet return to self. Many books are about love; as Gavan pointedly notes, “This one is about what comes after.”

Cover page of The Prelude Girl using original background image by photographer Mike Alegado. All rights reserved to the author, the photographer, and the publisher.

What sets Gavan’s work apart in today’s poetry scene is its careful balance of raw emotion and refined craft. Yes, these poems are “raw and bitter” at times (the pain of being a romantic placeholder is not sugar-coated), but they also resonate with the kind of intellectual and linguistic richness that fans of traditional poetry crave. Gavan’s writing is deeply rich and almost cryptic, inviting the reader to dig deeper — to sit with the verses, not just scroll past them. There’s a clear influence of the great confessional poets and perhaps a touch of formal structure amid the free verse. In short, The Prelude Girl speaks to the “highly intellectual readers who prefer the old style of poetry” just as much as it will speak to anyone who’s had to pick up the pieces of a broken heart. Marjorie Gavan herself has said she wrote these poems as a way to deal with “the sorrow and rage” of being left behind, but not to dwell in darkness, rather to acknowledge the story and emerge stronger. “This collection is an ode to anyone left with full hearts and nowhere to place them,” Gavan writes in her preface. She hopes that readers “see your light. Choose yourself, even when no one else does.” Such a message, delivered in beautifully wrought poetry, proves that the soulful spirit of verse is alive and well.

As we examine Megan Fox’s Pretty Boys Are Poisonous and the mixed reactions to it, it becomes clear that modern poetry is not monolithic. There are populist and avant-garde currents, minimalist confessionals, and intricate lyrical tapestries — all coexisting in the literary ecosystem. Rather than “losing its soul,” poetry may be splitting into different souls: one that speaks plainly to the masses, and one that holds tightly to artful tradition. Both have their place. Fox’s collection, for all its flaws, started conversations about poetry at dinner tables and on YouTube channels that might otherwise never discuss it. It made some people angry, yes, but it also made many others feel understood. And perhaps that’s the crux of poetry’s purpose: to make us feel less alone. Meanwhile, poets like Marjorie Gavan ensure that those hungering for more elevated, timeless verse will have something to sink their teeth into.

In the end, the question of whether modern poetry is losing its soul might be answered with another question: Why not make room for multiple kinds of soul in poetry? There is room for the fiery, straightforward scream of a wounded heart and the subtle, symphonic meditation of a seasoned wordsmith. Rather than an elegy for what poetry used to be, this moment can be a celebration of how poetry grows and adapts. As readers, we can embrace the diversity, enjoying the quick, cathartic connection of an Instagram poem one day, and the profound satisfaction of a more classical poem the next. Megan Fox’s venture into poetry, the applause and criticism it garnered, and the continuing work of poets who walk different paths (from insta-poets to literary purists and everyone in between) all underscore one truth: poetry is very much alive, and its soul is exactly what we make of it each time we pick up a poem and listen for its heartbeat.