Rhyme

I can't even rhyme I don't have the time When the clock hits nine I drop Like a sack of potatoes in the fryer Like the fries at McDonalds Too salty But the salt dries up the sweat From all this stress That just keep pouring and pouring Drowning in the ocean that puddles before me Looking at the reflection Searching for perfection In my poetry Why is it called poetry? When you can't find a poem in at tree If it were a tree, no fruit would fall Not like an apple tree Where an apple would hit you with inspiration Colors, that's the answer to this problem Like in math that's my "x" The only answer to pass that test Colorful language Spitting purples and blues In all different hues And somehow they'll land on my paper Painting a picture Look at the Mona Lisa I made Da Vinci proud And the girl in the frame Which brought him his fame And now I can rhyme With a pen and a pencil Paper and a guide After you've read what's on this paper You'll go for a joyride Riding the rainbow Reaching the pot of gold Finding skittles And tasting the colors that are key To writing poetry