I wonder whether that poet weaves emotion into words, or the other way around. Something of the chicken and egg question in that, for me at least. I wonder, too, about the rejection and ridicule. Is the world that grants our writing even that much SO indifferent? Personally, I would rather have evidence of at least a read-thru - even if it were ridicule - than the uncertainty of silence. Is it, as they say, complicit? Or censure? Or derision? Indifference? Apathy? Antipathy? I'd rather know...something.