An Ode to Elementor, Which I Hate With Great Sincerity
I hate you, Elementor,
Not with a passing sigh,
But with the deep, bone-level resentment
Usually reserved for printers and cable companies.
I hate how you promise simplicity
And deliver a labyrinth with no map,
Where every click opens three panels
And none of them explain themselves.
I hate how you whisper, “Just drag and drop,”
Then punish me for daring to drag,
And shame me for daring to drop,
As if I should have known better.
I hate your containers,
Your nested containers,
Your containers inside containers
Like a Russian doll designed by chaos.
I hate that text is never just text,
But a widget,
Inside a column,
Inside a section,
Inside a mistake I made three hours ago.
I hate your headers that multiply in secret,
Your menus that vanish like frightened cats,
Your templates that haunt the site
Long after I’ve deleted them and said goodbye.
I hate that nothing is ever broken,
Yet nothing ever works,
And the error is always implied
To be my fault.
I hate how you lock features behind paywalls,
Then scold me for not subscribing sooner,
Like this was all part of some character-building exercise.
I hate that Gutenberg lets me write like a human,
While you insist I think like a layout engine
Having a nervous breakdown.
I hate how victory is defined not by success,
But by the absence of new problems
For at least ten blessed minutes.
And yet —
Against my will —
I hate you most of all
Because someday soon
I will understand you,
And that feels suspiciously
Like Stockholm Syndrome.
