Rhyming is intolerable,
It’s like a viscous soluble.
Sticking to the insides of my empty mind,
It continually creates stress, it is not sublime.

It’s like an unwanted task,
My love for poetry is then masked.
Mrs. P just loves to make us rhyme.
But honestly, I feel like it’s a waste of time.

Lines and lines of rambling on,
I’ll be up until the break of dawn.
Restless in my sleep thinking of patterns,
My brain is slowing crumbling and just shattered.

Dear Mr. Rhyme you aren’t worth my time,
Now if you don’t mind, please let me unwind!
Dear Mr. Rhyme, I hate you I hate you
I just might throw my computer at you.

Rhyming is intolerable,
Nor is it logical.