Because I am not a poet and I do know it,
I am scribbling something gibberish,
Metaphors thrown here, similes thrown there,
Grammar lying (or laying) under my doormat,
Messages or no messages between these lines,
Look closer. Schrödinger’s cat.
Tell me, what’s a rhyme scheme?
I don’t know ABC of it,
All I know, a couplet is an AA.
Hi everyone! I am villanelle,
And I am addicted to wordplay.
At first, I used to compare apples to oranges,
As the addiction grew, I sliced open the pulp of poetry,
Creative juices flew,
I became a fruit ninja,
I even rhymed each syllable –
Madam’s maple with Adams apple.
My game was alliterations, but was my fancy fat-free funny?
Or was I just bitten by the poetry bug?
The fuck do I know! I was on a fruit diet B.
Shoulder shrug.
Soon I knew, I could never write a sonnet, a limerick or a ballad,
Couldn’t decipher a shayari.
Dear Diary,
Today I still wrote a poem,
And it felt less than an art,
I am so sorry,
I too put words around my brain fart.
Peterosophy 