What do you think of this poetic poem!?

Question

Tyler calls her.

Dan calls her.

Does her boyfriend call her?

No sir.

The ex in Minnesota,

Even that boy with the Toyota.

Everyone wants that girl.

Maybe she'll give one a whirl.

The one she loves,

Is gonna get shoved.

To the bottom of the list,

Like he doesn't exist.

She deserves better than him.

His cances are getting slim.

Not to mention,

His lack of attetion.

So get your **** together PJ.

Cause this just might be your last day.

She gave you a shot.

Turns out you're not so hot.

You don't show her love anymore.

So your *ss is out the door.

Any feedback is appriciated. I know I'm no poet, but relationships give me something to work with.

Answer 1

I guess me and Clockwork box are at odds.

I think this is nicely rhymed and has a fun flow to it.  I would never advise you or anybody else to write like somebody other than yourself.  That's what makes poetry so much fun and so appealing.

That said...........................

The added bonus here is that you are actually saying something with this piece. The feelings of exasperation and anger are robust and made me laugh actually at the point being made. There's only so many chances a guy's gonna get right!? :O)))  It's not flowery and syrupy and pushing so hard at trying to "be poetic" to make it work, it just goes and flows naturally in your own words and for that reason, it's really a good piece in my estimation.

(oh and "chances" and "attention" are misspelled)

Write On!

Answer 2

Try writing what you feel with out being so literal and without the incessant rhyming. Check out how Pablo Neruda said it:

A Song of Despair

  

   The memory of you emerges from the night around me.

The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.

Deserted like the dwarves at dawn.

It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!

Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.

Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.

In you the wars and the flights accumulated.

From you the wings of the song birds rose.

You swallowed everything, like distance.

Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!

It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.

The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.

Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,

turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!

In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.

Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!

You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,

sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!

I made the wall of shadow draw back,

beyond desire and act, I walked on.

Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,

I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.

Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.

and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.

There was the black solitude of the islands,

and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.

There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.

There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.

Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me

in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!

How terrible and brief my desire was to you!

How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.

Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,

still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.

Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,

oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.

Oh the mad coupling of hope and force

in which we merged and despaired.

And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.

And the word scarcely begun on the lips.

This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,

and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!

Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,

what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!

From billow to billow you still called and sang.

Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.

You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.

Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.

Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,

lost discoverer, in you everything sank!

It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour

which the night fastens to all the timetables.

The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.

Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.

Deserted like the wharves at dawn.

Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.

Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.

It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!

Answer 3

Eminem is that you? That was a great poem (a poem that actually rhymes, thats rare!). To me, if a 'poem'  does not rhyme its not a poem at all! It is then called a passage. I can easliy understand it. Probably one of the best poems I've read in Yahoo Answers. What I don't understand is why people say express yourself instead of trying to rhyme! A poem IS rhyming right?