My Poetry is Lame
I make up rhythms on the fly
without regard to rhyme
I seem to break at eight syllables—
Oh, wait, just stopped at nine.
I’m inconsistent once again
just like I was last time.
I guess that’s its own constant, right?
About eight or nine syllables
then six on a new line
That just seems to be how I roll.
I don’t think that’s a crime.
Free verse is pretty fun, I say.
No offense to the rest.
Oh, crud, I broke another trend.
There go the rhymes I had.
A poet, I am not.