I show you my heart and you shut me down,
‘That isn’t art’, you say, you frown,
‘I know that is true because i am a god
I can determine what’s art and what’s not.’

Do you want me to apologize and nod in submission?
Should I have used another juxtaposition?
Should I have adhered to a regular verse,
Iambic pentameter, rhetoric, curse?

‘Rhyme like an artist’, you say upon this,
‘Do it then’ i snap, ‘speak to me in sonnets,
I beg you, convey to me all of your losses,
Then try to woo me with caesural pauses.’

I say ‘Teach me what a verb is
and where I should place it,
And feed me a preferred list
of syntax arrangements.’

‘No, no, please, do mention once more,
What is a motif and what is it for?
How do I read and how do I spell?
Oh, please let me know, because you do it so well.’

‘Let me down gently because you know I can’t stand
A slap of reproval from your masculine hands,
One bad word about me and you fear i might shriek,
Or claw out my eyes, this emotional freak.’

‘Here’s a metaphor for you (or at least so i think
Silly me can’t tell the pen from the ink)
In this metaphor i am the man with the boot
And you are the cockroach crushed under my foot.’