Each time I sit and try to write a verse,
My sentiments sound more and more perverse.
My stomach drops with each new failed attempt;
my writing style, once ordered, now unkempt.
The fact that makes me even more berserk
is I’ve no trouble writing verse for work.
It’s only when I strike out on my own
that nothing seems to have the proper tone.
The sabotage may all be in my head —
verse makes me feel like everything that’s said
has been reduced by Dr. Seuss to be
simple, childish, just not written by me.
Let verse submit and give me room to grow
into the likes of Edgar Allan Poe!
(Yet by complaining, I have to confess:
I’ve had at least some measure of success.)