clichés

I am not poetry.

I am not a leaf to curl and tremble
I am not the pretty flower you want me to resemble
I am neither the star to shine and sparkle
I am not honey nor a cookie to crumble
I am not poetry.

I am a storm which makes dust fly
I am the spice which makes people cry
I am a thorn which will prick your eye
I am a scorn you won’t forget even if you try
I am not the calm, I am the chaos you don’t want to pry