In English Class I dreaded the times 

In which my class gathered to analyze rhymes.

The poems themselves were way too deep,

And yet still managed to go over my head.

 

Opps that last bit wasn't in tune,

Wait aren't peoms supposed to make you swoon?

To make you shiver, make you ponder,

To express thy love from way down yonder?

 

Don't they open your eyes and force you to think? 

Well don't hold your breath and try not to blink.

For that is not the true intentions of a poem,

they don't always make sense or follow a low hum.

No no, it is instead a story, pleasing to the ear.

Stories and emotions protrayed so grand you'll get lost for a year!

 

People will often try and construe what a poem is saying,

sometimes other's meanings can be dismaying.

All this conveyed by my English teacher,

that poems are yours and others can't be preachers.

 

I took the advice that I was given

and refused to in fact, give in

to what other people believed to be true,

I decide what a poem says, not you.

 

Poems aren't what they mean to anyone one soul,

In fact, every single person tends to have a different pull.

Poetry is art, so however you are seduced,

is how that art captivates you, is something I've come to deduce

Poetry is yours, isn't it neat?

That something so special is yours to keep.