Don’t call me a poet; I’m not one at all!

I’m such a bad poet, don’t tell me I’m not,
Metaphors hate me, my brain’s in a box!
I can’t trust my words to show rhythm of thought,
My ideas are slow, they need pull from an ox.

I live without logic, I live in great pain,
My brain doesn’t think, my brain doesn’t work,
My thoughts don’t make sense and it drives me insane,
My golden ideas are stuck in deep murk.

My grammar’s a mess, it’s strewn all about,
My stanzas are poor and the structure is off,
My verses confuse me, they leave me in doubt,
If you can’t understand this, at me you will scoff.

I can’t write a poem, can’t do it at all,
I think I might leave it to those who are smart,
The mistakes I am making are bigger than small,
And try as I may, I won’t master this art.

The formats are rigid, and so are the rules,
I don’t like to read them, I loathe them a lot,
The rules I am breaking are rules I should use,
I’m such a bad poet, don’t tell me I’m not.

Such Eloquence

How can it be
That someone else’s eloquence
Is enough to
Bring me into memories
Enough to
Bring emotions back with me
Enough to
Make me cry at a scene

How can it be?
That words can help evoke things
That words can make me feel things
That words can make me fall apart
In the middle of a public place
I mean,
How could someone write like that?

I’ve been told many things
Over and over
I’ve been told,
“Make them feel, girl,”
And had no clue what it meant.
I’ve been told
To feel what I am writing
And had no clue what to feel
So I concluded,
“That’s confusing,
And I don’t know what to think.”