They taught me about poetry.

I learned that lost love has long been lyricized,

And that alliteration should be taken into consideration when analyzing a publication,

And that rime is a tool used to prove a viewpoint or to accrue emphasis,

And assonance too

Can                                                                                                                         contribute

                        Meaning

STRUCture that STRAYS from the NORM can do MUCH to your POEM,

And rhythm, as well, can speak louder than words and ride alongside metaphors that open             doors and similes that hang from trees with metonymies and synecdoches.

But who has the right to tell me the right way to write?

And why must my masterpiece mirror maturation or menopause and not discuss the fuss I             made on the bus as I started to cuss?

Does my poem carry no meaning without abiding by the law that so ironically defeats the             purpose of artistic expression?

Because no sounds that are spoken or words that are wiped have the power to persuade             the intentions inherent to I and myself who writes what feels right in the middle of             the night with no light but the bright of my phone with the bite of autumn at my             neck.

Did you want a rhyme there?

            Learn                        to                         expect                        less

And                        more                        you                        will                        possess.

But that’s just coming from me—

With no literary degree.