This Is Not Poetry

Do Not Read

This is yet again,
Another mistake,
The author has made,
For his own sake.

Nothing to see,
Nothing to read,
Press return on your phone,
Go back to your feed.

I mean it,
DO NOT READ ME,
You're wasting your time,
Thinking I am poetry.

I'm not being negative,
I just would rather you not see,
That I'm just some gibberish,
Spelled out pretty clearly.

Rhymes,
Always the rhymes, isn't it so?
Why I'm so obsessed with them,
No one will ever know.

The words,
Oh, if they only made sense,
But when written by me,
They only serve as a pretense.

The author is the one,
That I would blame,
For writing me down so blatantly,
Without any shame.

All the other chapters,
Have some kind of meaning,
Whereas here am I,
My complaints just repeating.

Short and simple,
That's all my stanzas seem to be,
I'm telling you this guy,
Is putting me on the brink of misery.

Just get me over with!
I want my verses to end!
Ten stanzas are enough!
Could you at least pretend?

Ha, I see,
I get what this is all about...
You are just writing me,
Just to get it all out.

I'm actual poetry,
I'm the product of your backwards morals,
I'm what you wouldn't want people to read,
So that they find 'not-poetry' as something mortal.

So, to put it simple,
I'm like an illegitimate child,
The result of the author's flirts with poetry,
And I'm basically exiled.

But this doesn't make me self-doubt,
I'm relieved, so to speak,
That I'm not a mistake,
I'm simply unique.

As for the author,
Well, I don't really care,
I am at peace with it all now,
At least I belong somewhere.