Poetry, my kryptonite Devious words hiding secret meaning Like a cruel game of hide and seek. What’s the point? Poetry, the infected scrotum I could do without Alliterations, assonances, allusions Devices I fail to understand I hate I loathe I abhor This coma inducing task They call poetry. Euphonies, a waste of my time A pleasant contrast to Cacophonies Causing gagging, barfing…oh wait, I mean expel stomach fluids And other such ailments Mr. Mulroy enabling the living dead In class discussion Batteries not included No warnings No skull with crossed bones Cyanide in water. I wouldn’t write poetry in a house, I wouldn’t write poetry about a mouse, Or a loon with a spoon on the moon. Consonance constantly contribute nothing to poetry Man, I hate poetry It’s incoherent Shallow Meaningless Boring Uncultured drivel That masquerade as Profound Insightful Artistic works Written by people who’s intelligence Rivals that of a Rice Krispie. Man I hate poetry