Gibberish

this poem
hasn't finished yet!
by any means.
it isn't a sonnet
nor a ballad.
and like a lunatic
she questions
her identity.
the words lingered
along the stanza lane
in odd hours like
an insomniac.
i wish i could
rephrase her into
a soothing lullaby.
a gentle phrase here,
a rhyming word there
and she would have
her first breath.
her first cry
would ring across the
page like a sweet
song of nightingale.
yet it feels;
strangely gibberish.
she seeks freedom
like a teenager.
stopping me
from setting her
a rhyme scheme.
like a free verse
she runs across
the page writing
her own song.
and it feels the poem
hasn't begun yet.
by any means.