This is the poem for you.

[Jerrybaldy]

This is a poem
That was the first line
The bit where I wrote this is the first line
Was the second line
This is already the fifth
Time flies
Soon be dead.

When I am dead
I am hoping MystyrMystyrys ants
Come and put me back together
Like a biscuit
To mess it up again

I am doing ok
Thanks for asking
It took until line 13 before you asked
Self obsessed bastard
Are you a poet by chance?

I have ironing to do
Oh the irony
I met a three last night
She was so new
So I metaphor

I am a poet and I know it
I whore my words
For a worldwide audience
That could fit in my kitchen
Eating eggy bread.

There is a pillow with my name on it
Calling out
Not literally of course
I always shop for pillows
Without mouths
Hate how they drool

I post as I am always lost
I suspect you are too
You are like me
Most likely
Painting pictures in the impressions of words

Lets make a pact to give up
And keep it in our thoughts
Every thing recorded will be erased
So whats to lose?

Last verse
It took forever
Love
Is all we have.
My apologies for the low score on originality
Some bastard got there first
Its not my fault I was born too late
Its only a poem
What good are they?

Sweet inevitabilty.

[BookBeauty]

Fun! :) It rhymes without rhyming.

[Charles Darnay]

Criticizing any oulipo attempt is often an exercise in futility but your previous attempt at meta fiction was more insightful. This one seems lazy

[Jerrybaldy]

probably true. I dont really know.

[AuntShecky]

I'm a proponent of self-referential creative works, metafiction, meta-anything,
so this one is an automatic hit with yours fooly. It has its sparks of cleverness, not afraid of anything, avoids taking itself too earnestly or seriously. What's not to like?--except maybe you've got the wrong "it's" --needs an apostrophe. I do not dislike the last line of all, but I gots to think about it awhile to puzzle out how it ties in with the rest.