Art my parents hate

The title of this art piece is a lie, but it's more accurate than most real stories you love, which are either filled with falsities or cherry-picked -- this is what you want. So, the title of this art piece is the truth. My mom (in friendly words) keeps telling me about how she doesn't like my recent poems. What she means, and where she is correct, is that they are not great at communicating my ideas. It's the same reason I struggle to read poetry; it just doesn't resonate. But still, I'll keep creating poems that I likely wouldn't enjoy had I not made them. Until I find a way to change them, and by then, she'll have forgotten that she was a big reason behind the change. My dad doesn't even hate my poems; he doesn't care for them at all. They mean nothing to him. Success wouldn't mean making my mom, who studied the English language at some university, like my poems. I'm sure I could make her care. No, real success means making even my father, who surely influenced my indifference to language, care.