Poetry “Competition”, I guess?

Poetry “Competition”, I guess?

One day, said Mom, “Write! Put off no longer!”

The problem here is there’s nothing to write...

“Admissions! College!” pushed Mom yet harder

“Okay, okay,” I acquiesce in spite

“Informing” stuff is no interest to me

So poetry I guess is what I’ll do

But poetry’s art; art should simply be

What’s good, what’s bad – I pondered, through and through

Dear judge, did you see? The efforts within?

Iambic meter, with each word precise

A Shakespearean sonnet, pro akin

Ten syllabled lines, so hard to make nice

Maybe I took some liberties throughout

But Chat GPT checked: a sonnet no doubt

Away from Shakespeare I open discussion

What gives you rights to children’s words and future

My argument could make my judged points rupture...

If I must write, I’ll do with strong impression

To write with both freedom and free expression!

Well... haha, I’m typing on my computer

I know I wrote I’d write free without structure

Actually, I lied; this sonnet’s Italian

I want to be free – but I just can’t escape

The system has me gripped so tight in its hold

Afraid that my thoughts are uninteresting; fake

Poetic meter is fancy, but it is really hard to control

I don’t want to navigate this rhyme hellscape

Iambic meter’s gone, it’s too hard to uphold

I don’t like to write

For competitions. They judge

Judge on what? Effort?

Prose, meter, structure...

...Then free poetry wouldn’t

Really work, would it

Poor me who wrote verse so amphigoric

I think this poem makes me pyretic

If it comes down to prose

I have great skills to compose

Shakespeare, Petrarchan, haiku, and limerick

Ok, for real: no official structure, let’s be versatile

Although it still rhymes, since that’s my natural style

Advanced words, techniques – all clear to see.

These are all things that are easy for me.

 But you see...

When judged on meaning, that’s when I am afraid

Because I don’t really have anything deep to say

I started with 28 lines of fancy-pants stanzas

Complicated, elaborate, a complete extravaganza

Knowing that perhaps it would elevate my score

But in the end, there’s nothing more

I don’t know what I’m trying to convey

This poem’s messy – the meaning unexplained

Words fill the screen in different patterns

No linking factors, sentences scattered

Metaphors brew silent, hidden in veil

Yet they continue; will continue unrevealed

Verses of a “system” “future” and “freedom”

Will not go anywhere but my idea mausoleum

Here lie my thoughts, R.I.P

Destined to die, buried at the bottom of my things

In the end, it’s just a poem for Mom

Why bother me... why bother a judge?

Will it bother you if I don’t make this last phrase match?