I think I'm trying too hard.
I sit here and think
Of what rhymes with "tell"
Fell, sell, bell, gel...
But life doesn't consist
Of meaningless poetry.
Our days aren't built up of
Rhymes and iambic pentameter.
We don't need a pen and paper
To express our emotions.
We don't need a rhyme dictionary
To tell someone how we feel.

I think I'm trying to make up
For the fact that I'm not good at speaking
So I try and tell people
I'm good at poetry
And writing.
Yet this is all I can do.
My words pour out of my mouth
In a drunken mess
And I haven't even had an ounce
Of liquor.
My fingers scramble over the keyboard
To try and find the right keys to press
But it still fills the screen in a shambled mess.
So I turn to this.
This poem here
And hope to God
...and hope to God...
What can I rhyme with here?

I guess what I'm trying to say,
Or write,
Is that polished poetry
Isn't real.
It's nice to have a completed piece
You are proud of
But after working on it
And perfecting it,
You begin to lose the emotions
You started with.
You lose the whole reason
Of why you started the poem
In the first place.
Life is not a polished piece of writing.
It is a mess of poetry
With line breaks that make no sense,
Words that just don't quite fit,
And accidental rhymes.
It cannot be forced
But I suppose it can be practiced.
I just haven't in a while.