do you need those words, or can I eat them?

I agree with reality,
I just don't take part in the sport.
I'm sweaty no matter what, the toxins will come out
one way or another.

"a whole year in 20 minutes,
I promise that I'm almost finished."
the last line makes the sweat clot over my thin eyelid skin.
thinking about how many minutes is 90 years,
then a chorus belting that rent song,
then about making high art or low art forever, where is progress.

then about getting over the ego of first ideas/drafts,
because they only make sense to me one way, not read.

this isn't a poem, and can I just say for the record I hate poetry format but love poetry?
I wish poetry could be one long row, continuous instead of little sections of rows, or like a paragraph,
well unless structure is what matters,

but like imagine William Carlos Williams in .9 margin, paragraph, Arial font.
it's quite relaxing to me.