i jsut wnana be udnersotod

so wyh mkae it so hrad on yrouslef; my geust boglegr tihs weke is one of the msot msinduertoosd men in hstiroy; i’ll alolw him to irnotcdue hsiemlf, and elt oyu be hte jgude as to wyh; hree’s waht he hsa to sya:

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is this poetry…

the boss is coming and i need this out

before his flabby jowls assault me

he’s tall

he’s overweight

his excess coagulates at random points about his person

he treads boards

amateur ones

musical ones

they sing with pleasure

as one does when the whip spurs

when you think all your breath has gone

there’s always a little extra for a song of praise or the safety word

and then there’s next time

i can see the future and it’s too bright

it hurts my eyes and i don’t like it

no not one little bit

&c &c &c

i don’t fully understand poetry; i don’t entirely know what it is about their content that makes them poems, for if it is not about content, then layout is all i have; this for instance, is a catchy story:

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door – only this, and nothing more.’ Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow from my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore – for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore – nameless here for evermore.”

it goes on……

i initially thought that it was just the poems that rhymed which were ‘obvious’ poems; but i changed my mind and am now at a complete loss……or maybe not, and it is just layout