Garret Schuelke's poem is only three short lines, and it says exactly what it means: the speaker hates filling out applications. There's no metaphor to decode and no hidden twist. The feeling is simple, blunt, and instantly familiar to anyone who has ever stared at a form asking for the same details yet again.
What makes it work is how the poem is built. Each line is tiny, so reading it feels like a series of small, grudging stops, almost like a sigh broken into pieces. "I despise" is a strong phrase, much harsher than "I dislike," and placing it alone on the first line makes the speaker's irritation land before we even know what caused it. Then the dull, bureaucratic word "applications" arrives as a kind of anticlimax. The gap between the intense feeling and the ordinary subject is funny, and it suggests how a small chore can wear us down. The mood is dry, grumpy, and a little humorous.