Hello Poetry; we meet again
my bored, unenthusiastic but sympathetic friend
Why is it you never seem to like what I do?
The rhymes, the rhythm structure, the ideas I write for you?
Or maybe, in my haste, maybe I've miscalculated
Maybe, it's actually me that feels discombobulated
I have had times when I've struggled with what I've written
I always die a thousands deaths, before I'm smitten
with how I might have dotted the i's, and crossed the t's
I'll hide behind furniture to be sure that no one sees
lest they lambast my catastrophic grasp on diction
With god's help I'm sure I'll conquer this terrible affliction
and actually construct a poem I'm happy with
Here are the laws, I'll live by, forthwith,
1. don't write about your pet hamster, no one cares
2. and you should probably steer clear of international affairs
3. remember no word in the English language rhymes with 'month'
5. always know your subject, inside and out
6. Do weasels have noses, or do they have snouts.....?
...****, you can't even write out a set of rules
You; You have no friend in anyone that won't suffer fools
gladly, but sadly, I have another idea
another lacklustre shot at being sincere
I hate this vicious cycle,
hate every single bit
I'll get my pencil,
grab some paper,