NOT a Poem

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.


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