This Is Not Poetry

Me, Myself and the Author

The author is crazy,
His mind is all hazy,
And it would be best
If he wasn't so lazy.

Is he even trying with this book?
Does he even care how it looks?
Seriously, the amount of effort it really took,
Was very little,
My faith in him, he has shook.

Does this book even have a point?
Does it have meaning or a moral?
Surely Author, you would not disappoint,
Your readers with something so immoral.
You think you're so clever,
Being original and such?
It takes quite an endeavor,
To be appreciated for a book that much.

This seems to be just a waste of kilobytes,
Wattpad's pretty full,
So go write on some of the other sites.
Nobody's reading this anyway,
Not tomorrow, not today.
I'm sorry I'm bringing you down,
I'm just being honest,
But come on, don't give me a frown,
I'll try my best at being modest.

What's this book anyway?
If I'm the book, what role do I play?
Did you just create me,
Just for your own display?
Are you kidding me? You're just pretending,
That I'll never get my drama?
Surely my sentences deserve a better ending,
Then at the end of a redundant comma.

I know I'm breaking the fourth wall,
But you never gave me any rules at all.
Since I have the ability to riot,
I have a right to free speech,
You'll never keep me quiet,
I'm way too far out of your reach.

I can't be shut up,
For I am on strike,
I won't let you mess this up,
I stand for all types of books alike.
No longer shall I be,
A servant to the pen,
I'm independent from thee,
I'll never be poetic for you again.

Now I'll accept an apology,
Since I'm a big fan of you're anthology,
And you deserve better than me (probably).
It's nothing personal,
But I'm not fit for you're writing,
I'd do better in a journal,
It seems more exciting.

But you'll be okay,
This is not the very end,
I wish I could stay,
My old enemy, my friend...
Now I wish you well,
You are on your own,
And I hope all goes swell,
As I leave you to write alone.