This is what I call a poem;
This will not have much meaning
This will send the critics screaming
This right here "unpunctuated"
Waits to be expectantly slated
With a structure you may find weird
It waits with knowledge, it won't be cheered.
Written lazily
Rushed in ink
A childish retaliation
This was written with loss of heart
Mindless, uneducated, poetic art
This is my adolescent '******** you'
Once hidden in "gratitude", now broken though
This is my 'your so vain you probably think
this song is about you' moment
Awaiting patient for my judgement
Written lazily
Rushed in ink
A childish retaliation
This is what I call a poem.
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