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This form restricts me; syllables and rhymes
demand specific placement on the page.
I've tried to start this sonnet many times,
but all the limitations form a cage.
So here we go! Attempting this once more,
a myriad distractions all around,
I sense this structure is a sliding door
without a key or handle to be found.
Pentameter iambic isn’t hard,
but reading it is walking with a limp.
Unless you’re Shakespeare, the immortal Bard
who traveled in his literary blimp.
That last quatrain may not be quality,
but now I'm done, so that's okay with me.