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If it’s poetry that I write,
Then I think today I might
Just go against the grain for once
And write on rhyme tonight.

Seriously, though.

When is it that reading rhyme
And following basic rules of time
Gets to a point where keeping it straight
Feels like paying a fine?

But actually,

Rhyming for me is such a pain.
It’s like waiting for a bus…in the rain and damn it, I broke the syllabic pattern and ruined the unity
I thought to attain.

…There goes that plan.

I say

Let words
flow
like
water

and collect in
crystalline, mossy
pools,

Because eloquence isn’t found in the predictable binds of patterns; I see it in similes and vivid imagery that no one, not even me, rules.

Hey look, a rhyme. That counts right?

Anyway,
Let writing happen and jump for joy, make you smile, and make you cry, and please, personify things for once. Let it come spontaneously like life (Especially since we like to write about life so often).

Because when we write it out like this
Oh so little can exist
Between the lines and in them too…
And I can’t find a rhyme.

Coexist? No, that’s dumb. Let me try again.

Because when we write it out like this
Oh so little can exist.

And it sucks. Give writing some wiggle room, for goodness sake.