Prosody

A snail came to me in a fever dream

He confirmed my suspicion

That the poetry I've been writing for months

May not be poetry at all

He force-fed me format that I like to remain ignorant to

But I'll be good and try some

Be wary of my own lethargy and sloth

Since I began doubting anyways

And the change I'm soon to perform

May as well be accompanied by other transformations

I adore poetry

And I ought to represent her in a becoming way

Since I've taken advantage of holding her hand

I believe I ought to owe her

So I ought to attempt some experiments

Or at least dance to some rhythm as opposed to flinging aimlessly