If I were a poem
my rhythm would be off
and the words would be hard to digest.

My flow wouldn't go
and the truth wouldn't show
for the nobody you know
doesn't quite fit into words
(nicely)

The grammar would be butchered
and the thoughts of me chopped
into pie....(like bruised cherries)
            c
             e
               s

And the pillar you thought
could cast shadows in your darkness
would simply crumble
at the stroke of your quill.

No, if I were a poem...
you wouldn't write me.

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