You cannot convince me That poems have rules When rhymes are suggested And forms are just tools.

For all of the history That poetry holds, The classical structures Have seem to grow old.

A free verse is nothing But a jumbled word bomb, Mixed with some synonyms From thesaurus.com.

I could write “I hate my life” To express my dismay, While claiming it’s a poem And you’d all cry and say.

“What a marvelous poem!” “I can feel all the rage!” When it’s copy and pasted From a redditors page.

If I say the clock talks In flowery words It’ll somehow be connected To the migration of birds.

Even now as a hater Of all poetry This is still a poem That your interpreting.

And I know that the prompt Was “write a poem about rage” But teacher, aren’t you angry Did you fall for the bait?