Sitting in this rock hard chair

The page inscribed is so unfair,

Stripes of blue fill up the space

Freedom of speech is not the case.

What makes poetry so complicated?

Where every word is so deeply hated,

Is it the author, tone, or diction?

Or is it just the teacher’s fiction?

Poetry is an open box

Lively with expressive thoughts,

So why so tight is the literary grasp

Of my insightful teacher’s rath.

Margins flooded across the page

With aqua blue bubbles read by rage,

This wrong! That wrong! You’re wrong I’m wrong!

Man these comments sure are long.

Abbreviated awkward in every other line

This analysis cannot be mine,

Since awk is written consecutively

How long did you grade this, seconds one, two, or three?

This is poetry, not scientific law

So what can be wrong there are no flaws.

The words are there for interpretation,

Not to render my humiliation.

So can I really be that wrong?

Because my analysis was just as strong,

But my perception was just a little different,

So please sit down, take a look, and listen.

Poetry is what we see it to be.

It may be different between you and me,

But what makes your analysis unique and abstract,

Is the fact that you broke loose from the teacher’s attack.

So focus here on these few words;

Do not be afraid to let your voice be heard.

Express your mind without contempt,

Fearless of the “Good attempt,”

Scribbled in around every thesis

Who is the judge of that line’s deepness?

No one I tell you can determine the fate

Of what makes poetry analysis oh so great.