No Wrong Answer
Can you imagine a world with no equation?
Nothing could be lost in translation.
Or obfuscating, just captivation
It’s just the connotation in your poem
And in your poem, be who you want to be
From the simplest man to your darkest fantasy
A clerk named Finn selling some spaghetti
Or a monster hunter who is totally slaying
You’re slaying this rhyme time in the right time
Whether in the daytime or the nighttime
It doesn’t even have to rhyme sometimes
You should remember to have fun with rhythm
Your words form the rhythm, so don’t be afraid
To express the things that you want to say
Don’t downplay your display and inveigh
To say you are cliché, because you’re not
You’re not even if the words that you want to express
Seem to be said everywhere, more or less
The point is for progress, not for regress
Because nonetheless, you’re the best at being yourself
Yourself, you are one in a million
Screw that, one in a billion
Even better, one in a trillion
Because it is your view, your facts and opinions
No technique or certain physique
Hell, it could be doublespeak
Your rhymes are weak, just critique
But that’s what makes it unique
You can say what you want to say
You can do what you want to do
You can repeat the same exact words
You can do what you want to do
And now you can change up the rhythm even in the middle of the poem
If you think that’s the best way to make it flow
And sometimes you want to change up the style
To feel a little more comfortable
Wherefore doth thee feeleth such constrictions and pressure f'r th're is nay restrictions in poetry?
Our minds art arous'd by this did light'rature as t solves problems 'r holp receiveth ov'r things
Ev'ryone declares poetry as a dying medium 'r a trend of previous lifetime
But th're art nay w'rds to describeth the way t hadst affectioned our lifestyle
No technique or certain physique
Hell, it could be doublespeak
Your rhymes are weak, just critique
But that’s what makes it unique
You can say what you want to say
You can do what you want to do
You can repeat the exact same words
You can do what you want to do
You know what, screw it
I’m going free verse
Because there’s something I want to get off my chest
For the last few months, I’ve been trying my best
Just to make the perfect poem
A poem that I will back on and compliment
Compliment on its language and its view
A unique poem that makes me happy
But every time I start to make a poem
I call it stupid and dumb and annoying and a waste of time
I look at myself in the mirror and get mad
Because I can’t finish what I had started
I think my ideas are perfect and I think my words are great
But for whatever reason, when I put pen to paper
I just want to throw it away
And my rhymes are mediocre, at best
And I think my rhythm sucks
Which is strange because I can dance to a beat
And I play and sing and everything
Why do I ask my friends if it is okay?
It’s as if I can’t make up my own mind
It’s as if I can’t make my own decisions
Poems made me feel stupid
But then I had this strange epiphany
Just midday in the middle of doing something not that important
I started thinking of something
And that thing led to another thing
Which led to another thing
By the end of that day, I felt a connection
My brain knew what to say
If I can be me
And learn how to be
A boy made of pure glee
Then you can see
Through all the debris
How to find the key
Call it insanity, I call it reality, this part of me
These words can put me in a sense of esprit
I DON'T care anymore.
I DON'T care if I win.
That was never the point
It was not intended
It's about me
This is all about me
What has it taught me?
What does it mean to me?
A poem is a notion about devotion or emotion
Engaging brains in locomotion, for there is no potion
No magic or equation, or calculations
The admiration is the specialization
So, can you imagine it with me?
Can you imagine a world with no equation?
Just reminisce and see
Nothing could be lost in translation.
There is no wrong answer.