I am so fucking sick of writing rhymes
and finding meaning in mundanity,
slapping together unpoetic lines
about a freaking ladybug, are you serious?
A poet am I not because of this,
this driveling devotion to “the word”
as if this writing makes it more profound
when all it really does is turn it into a cliché.
Maybe I’m just too practical for this,
too economical with my reports.
Flow’ry turn-of-phrase is not my forté
which is probably why I don’t write poetry practically ever.
For the remainder of these thirty days,
I think I’ll skip the free verse.
Yep. I’m starting to hit a bit of a wall with this challenge.