I can’t do poetry

I can’t do poetry, I never had the patience for rhymes and meters. Pentameters, a-a-b-c’s,  couplets and whatnots, spare me.

I can’t do poetry, symbolisms and metaphors fly over my head like sarcasms on a literal person. Blue skies are just fucking blue skies for me, okay.

I can’t do poetry, I don’t know how to group stanzas and lines. My writings always linger between being prose-like or a half assed, badly done, deconstructed poetry.

I can’t do poetry because I can’t translate my emotions to words. I’m numb, I’m cold, I’m stuck in a rut. Poetry cannot be stone cold and empty, can it?

I can’t do poetry. I don’t have the heart for it, okay maybe also talent and patience, but mostly heart. Probably because I’ve lost my heart while searching for poetry in you.

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