I hate poetry

I hate the verse, despise its embrace, Yet, a poet I am, in this ironic space. No, I genuinely loathe poetry's face, It revolts within me, words of ignorance trace. Yet, within its lines, a refuge I find, A cry for help, within its words confined. I drown, thoughts suffocate, breathing a chore, Why don't you aid me? Can't you hear my uproar? Shush now, cease your words, your thoughts, be still, Just feel my essence, let understanding instill. I reiterate, poetry, my disdain holds strong, A pastime, senseless and dragging along. See how I bore you? You yawn, look away, "Such a bother," you think, as my verses sway. Silence yourself, no talking, no thought, Feel alone, sense me, let understanding be sought. I say it again, the hate I bear, A pointless endeavor, this poetic affair. I hate poetry, an endless debate, Yet, it tags me as dull, a misfit's fate. "An adolescent, lacking sense," you remark, Startled, yet impressed, a girl with a spark. But the hatred persists, relentless and true, As much as I love it, in my heart it grew. Branded as boring, a nerd they portray, For being a girl with thoughts, I dismay. For I hate poetry, an unyielding plight, As I despise being undervalued, a forgotten fight. Poetry, a non-judgmental haven I wield, Shield against a world that refuses to yield.