lately when i read other people's poetry
the lines stretch out at each end
forming tendrils that lash at me
wind around my neck and squeeze and squeeze

as of late
the words of others giggle quietly at even intervals
in rhythms and rhymes designed specifically
to make me nod in agreement

lately consonance and assonance
and all the mechanics i know backward and forward
have growled and glowered at me from around dark corners
knowing full well i can't do much to shut them up

lately when i read other people's poetry
it makes me sad
not because the words are sad
but because i know i should have written it.