This is not a poem.
This observes no
outline,
rules,
or template.
This is not
what you think it ought to be.
Pain
without structure
still hurts.
Hate
without grammar
still burns.
Tears
without regulations
still fall.
Joy
needs no revision.
Love
needs no second draft.
Laughter
is never in
iambic pentameter.
This is not a poem.
This is how I feel.