(This is my first try at writing a poem)

Incoherent

I muse aimlessly
as I think tirelessly
What of the poem?
It’s a token
Of my demise or despair
A desperate attempt to repair

Beautifully rhymed to
meet the demand due
Of what? One might ask
Satisfaction of this task
This deed be done
Yet always undone

The incoherence of my thoughts
More improbable than my flaunts
To boast of mine own
Than to accept of yours thrown
In waste to seek acceptance
Or to defy thy own’s parents

‘Tis is pretentious
Speaketh none doth use
As a symbol for cleverness
Using Shakespearean as covers
No one to know of your cowardice
Or yet mine to be accepted

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”
or so I am told
Yet none bother to use such words
as flattery or prose
All this doesn’t rhyme, incoherent
yet I remind you, none too is your mind

You think me of something
not someone or nothing
It’s difficult to pinpoint
What of your mind thinks
But spare me your judgement
or advice or even thoughts
For I, most definitely,
Care not.

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