I'm Not a Poet

That's probably not a surprise

because while I'm writing sentences

instead of stanzas

and straightforward metaphors

(who knew of such a thing?!)

the real poetic souls are off in some corner

in some elusive maze

that I can't seem to find

They're writing line after line

with this perfect flow or

that on-purpose break

Who focuses on

characterization

when you can manipulate

the sound of my voice

and five-seven-five syllables?

I'm a runner.

I write prose,

speech-and-debate cases.

Art class and precal

are my great failures.

With a steadily decreasing

but ever-hopeful grade point average

and just the right amount of

extracurricular activities

I'll

ALMOST

get into

an Ivy.

But don't tell me

to follow this arbitrary pattern

or nonconform with free-verse

because with all those other things

how could I ever be a poet?