O Poetry, How I Loathe Thee!

I wrote this in July of '08 for a Christian Writer's Guild assignment.

I lie on my bedroom floor with my hands on my head,
The thought of writing a poem makes me want to go to bed;
Sighing as I get up off the floor,
Day after day, I’ve come to dread this horrible chore;
I stare at the blank document on the computer screen
Overwhelmed.

It’s almost time for my poem to be due,
What to write, I don’t have a clue;
O poetry, how I loathe thee!
It makes me want to flee
And go to a place where I don’t have to rhyme,
I feel like it’s wasting all my time!

This assignment is going to drive me crazy!
It’s not that I’m being lazy,
I just don’t know what to write,
I’ve been trying to think with all my might;
Sitting here like a bump on a log,
Wondering why my poem makes me work like dog.

King Solomon I will never be,
Because to me, a tree is a tree!
While I write this poem, I must be honest,
I’d rather be at the orthodontist!

Poetry is an ugly, hairy troll
Waiting to jump out and scare me,
I’m sure all this rhyming will soon take its toll.

I do not like green eggs and ham,
Because a Sam I Am
NOT!
Writing poetry, I’m clearly confused,
I can never find the right words to be used.

Now then, let’s talk about fiction:
To me, it’s my addiction,
How I long to bask in its presence,
When we can come together like two long lost peasants.

It’s the place where my mind can roam,
And I feel most at home,
The characters wait patiently in my mind,
Beckoning me to go back to writing the fiction kind.

Because I know that I know nothing about poetry,
When I finish this poem my mind will be free;
Held captive no more
By this big ugly sore,

With a little bit of desperation,
And a lot of frustration,
We are nearing the end,
And I cannot wait to send
This poem in to my mentor
Where I will never see it again.
Goodbye my friend!
This is officially the end.