Confessions of a failed poet

I've been reading a few poems of late, and as with everything else I've ventured into, I started thinking that it's quite easy, writing poetry. My childhood experiences refute this opinion, but of course, I am smarter now than I was in the past... or so I thought. So I tried, ... and tried... and tried... and this is all I could come up with.

Now, some of my friends seemed to like it, but I am not sure if it was for fear of hurting my feelings. Thus I have to turn to you people - shoot. I'm all eyes. Harsh criticism is invited. I throw myself at the mercy of the jury. Here goes:

Confessions of a failed poet

I wrestle, I wrangle,
To squeeze out an idea,
My fingers entangle
On the keyboard, my dear.
A poem to write - a piece of pâtisserie
Definitely is not, I tell you, mon chérie.

The "inner eye", I sorely lack;
And to moon with spoons, hardly the knack.
The spring in a step, the mildewed rose,
I never could describe, let me go back to prose.

- Senthil Kumaran