Roses are red, violets are blue,

I’m not good at this, that’s painfully true.

Words don’t rhyme and they don’t make sense,

I’m scribbling nonsense, feeling so dense.

Love letters, they said, would win her heart,

But my poetic skills are falling apart.

I tried to be sweet, I tried to be smart,

But this poem’s a mess, a terrible start.

Teacher demanded we write something deep,

But this is a train wreck, a poetic heap.

Metaphors, similes—I’m lost in the fray,

I’d rather do math problems any old day.

So here it is, my attempt at a verse,

A rambling disaster, a lyrical curse.

Poetry’s not for me, that much is clear,

I’ll stick to prose and keep my sanity near.