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.

Alas.

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