Please Define Bad for Me.

Asking me "what is bad poetry?" is like asking me for my political preference.  My politics are probably easier to answer actually, for at the moment as the current answer is “the opposite to whatever we are getting right now!”  Poetry is different.  It’s someone’s thoughts, emotions, beliefs and artistic expressions etched into a monument either to be placed in Trafalgar Square or kept under bedroom floorboards or inside high combination safes, away from anyone and everyone.  
So the only poetry I’d say is bad is the sort that is forced, written begrudgingly and without care - like a Hallmark card.  Anything else may not be my preference, but it doesn’t mean it is BAD.
Think of the mother who receives barely legible, crumpled notes of poems about unicorns, Peppa Pig, poo and zombie tag.  She will treasure them above any Wordsworth or Keats.  Carol Ann Duffy couldn’t outclass a poem written by the boy with Aspergers Syndrome who uses it as an outlet for frustrations trapped within him, however unclear the syntax may be.  Even the tortured teenagers seeking to identify themselves through written angst and dramatic expression will get as much from their own writing as from Shakespeare, Milligan, Hughes and Heaney combined.  Judgement, in poetry’s case, rests with those who receive a poem (including the poet themselves) and the resultant effect.  Goodness can come in many ways, even just in the soothing of the poet’s own spirit.
Coincidentally, an observation I’ve made with my own writing, the poetry and prose that I liked the least has been the poetry and prose best received by others!  So however awful you may think what you put down on paper is, read it out.  Pass it to someone to read.  Read it aloud on your own until you can face the sounds of the words you have coined.  Find a friend, ply them with wine to encourage honesty (and forgetfulness) and see what they say!
On that note, here’s a sonnet I read out a couple of weeks ago at DGP.  I hated it.  In fact, I thought it was self indulgent twaddle.  However it seemed to go down well on the night and my friend Alison is telling me I should be putting this in my portfolio because she thinks it’s the best thing I’ve written.  I've come to trust her advice as she never steers me wrong and usually drags me back from the brink of a destruction I create for myself.  I disagree in this case though, so I want opinions.  Big, fat, brutal honest ones if you would kindly indulge me. I also have no title for it.  Suggestions are welcome.

I laid my soul out bare for you to takeDespite the fact I knew you were not mine,Just not believing that my heart you’d break,Ignoring every word and every sign.Your kisses seemed as true as love’s first blushAir burning as I tried to catch my breath.Your hand on mine was like a drug fueled rushAn ecstasy like that of Ashtoreth. But afterwards your shoulder turned to ice,Falling from grace, then landing all alone.One night did not seem to be worth the priceOf gazing at the silent mobile phone.The saddest part was that I lost a friendSo was it worth it really, in the end?Thanks,
L x