You cannot convince me

That poems have rules

When rhymes are suggested

And forms are just tools.

For all of the history

That poetry holds,

The classical structures

Have seem to grow old.

A free verse is nothing

But a jumbled word bomb,

Mixed with some synonyms

From thesaurus.com.

I could write “I hate my life”

To express my dismay,

While claiming it’s a poem

And you’d all cry and say.

“What a marvelous poem!”

“I can feel all the rage!”

When it’s copy and pasted

From a redditors page.

If I say the clock talks

In flowery words

It’ll somehow be connected

To the migration of birds.

Even now as a hater

Of all poetry

This is still a poem

That your interpreting.

And I know that the prompt

Was “write a poem about rage”

But teacher, aren’t you angry

Did you fall for the bait?