Rhyme
People tell me I’m not a child anymore, that my poetry isn’t supposed to rhyme You’re supposed to grow with age, and your verse mature with time But the endless thoughts, all those words always rhyme I’m in pain. And it’s in vain, I’ve nothing to gain but I just can’t Switch off my brain. And rhyming was once a talent, but now? I’m ‘insane’ and I can’t stop. Because to sound profound you need a different end to each sentence Each word is different, no two have the same cadence, all your lines are fragments As splintered as your soul, as broken as your heart, each part Darker than the last and I’m cold. So cold. And all these words keep crashing through Each one unannounced, yet invited too And each thought falls together in an imperfect harmony A rhythm of my own design that seems to set me free But I stop. Because I’m not a rapper and I’m not a child anymore, to rhyme So I stop. And my sentences grow short. And it takes effort to sound profound,...