IN A MESH OF WORDS

I do not speak poetry

Or maybe poetry

Doesn’t

Speak me!

 

 

In my effortless attempts

Of construction

Of what these may call

Poetry

My head’s pain that knoweth

It

Poetry dislikes me

 

 

It might be the

Absence of words

Conjugation of syllables

Resonance and trials of

Making it

It sure does dislike me

Poetry loathe’s me

 

Enslaved by rhythm

Of linguistics pawns

Poetry dodges me

My liking and suffering

And attempts of it liking me

It

Still dislikes me….

 

Well poetry that is the rhythm of life

It loathe’s my still existence

Poetry dislikes me!

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