To Be a Good Poet...

(So I wrote this poem for a workshop in my Creative Writing class but most of the students had no idea what the point of this poem is. I've tried but I just can't change it, it feels so complete to me, and the critiques at school were not very helpful. Any suggestions to make it more understandable?)

...There’s a hundred things I could say.

The way the water closet wakes

to the clattering rain.

The way the cold morning stumbles

My body into the tub.

The way the hot drizzle melts

My frozen blood.

The way the streams cascade

amassing skin grease

through My hair

along My neck

over My collar bone

around My pex

dripping,

splattering,

swirling down the black hole.

I’m such a good poet.

Watch.

The way showers inc. paste My words

to flow a slogan with their logo.

The way poet publishers copy My rights

and roll in the moldy dough.

The way rock bands sing My lyrics

to wash away the mess of yesterday.

The way a brazilian street kid wades.

in my greasy water.

to scrub off his dirt.

from last week.

...there’s a hundred things i Should say.