This isn't meant for metaphor.
It isn't meant for flowing lines of verse,
For similes and imagery
That would make in English teacher proud.

It's meant to be.
It's meant to exist,
As candidly as possible.

It's crude.
It's basic.
It's real.

It's not meant to show off,
To dazzle others
with my poetic style,
My rhythm and word choice.

It's chaotic.
It's messy.
It's boring.
It's whiny.
It's disorganized.
It's repetitive.
It's real.
It's me.

And if that's not what you call poetry,
Then fine.

But I call anything that carries emotion
Poetry.

And emotions aren't always pretty.
They aren't always elegant.

They're crude.
They're basic.
They're real.

They're chaotic.
They're messy.
They're boring.
They're whiny.
They're disorganized.
They're repetitive.
They're real.
They're me.

They don't come with a filter.
They don't come in beautifying lenses.
They don't try to appear as something they aren't.

Emotions are life,
Come what may.

Poetry is emotion,
And that's as real as it comes.

So,
Yeah,
I'd call this poetry.