shoot me.

i choose not to rhyme.

oh please,

is that a crime?

if so, I resign.

refuse to waste my time

taking it line by line;

more words to define,

i’d lose my mind!

to preach a pattern?

no such design.

i think and I say-

no forward,

no rewind.

put it this way,

all the rhyming

it means they’re lying;

making up stuff to go with this and that,

poetry, you’re dying.

I fake this conformity,

like girls in a sorority.

look at me, look at me

I’m doing what they ask of me.

but I quit,

and I won’t,

write it how want it;

“roses are red, violets are blue...”

I threw that in the garbage.

you hate this?

don’t fake it.

you know i can take it.

I’ll be creating,

and you’ll be hating.

and if rhyming

means surviving

well then,

just shoot me.