I hate poetry that always rhymes,
some foolish game of pantomime
designed to trick me into telling you
the way the thoughts in my head brew.
I do not like to share my thoughts,
although my conscience slowly rots,
and maybe that\'s because of how
I pity myself and raise my brow
at anyone who questions me,
assuming that they want to see
the things I try to hide from them,
like how my hand shakes when I hold a pen,
how I should\'ve been in therapy at age eleven,
or how I\'ll never get to heaven
because I\'ve failed too many times for that,
spending my time thinking I was fat
rather than focusing on one who needed me.
But it\'s too late now, don\'t you see?
And that\'s why I hate poetry;
-r.g.