Is this a poem or something else entirely?

First, let me say I really hate poetry.

I know, I know—I AM a poem…

Look, I didn’t ask to be a poem.

Hell, I wanted to be an auto repair manual

but that’s not the way things went down…

You might say I had a rather inauspicious beginning.

I was born at a diner just north of Winnipeg.

A waitress found me in a bus-tub---scrawled on a lightly-used napkin.

It was obvious I had been abandoned by my father, a man I only knew for a few brief moments…

I can still feel the anger that flowed from his fingertips as he pressed them against me.

He pinned me to the tabletop and had his way with me. He was very rough and tore me in several places with a stubby golf-pencil.

Let’s just say I was happy to see him go. (He left a lousy tip, btw…)

It wasn’t long after that I found myself swept off the table and into a stinky plastic bin filled with dirty dishes and half-eaten omelets. I was pretty sure I was done for when suddenly I felt myself lifted and lovingly smoothed against a warm, skirt-covered thigh. It was the waitress!---the same waitress I had made eye-contact with earlier as I was being horribly abused in section 5. She came back to rescue me! I stared lovingly into her soft, warm eyes as she held me and giggled in the most delightful way. She carefully folded me and stuck me in her purse. It was hot in there, but I nestled up against a cool tin of Sucrets and soon fell fast asleep.

There I waited for the next chapter in my life to be written. I didn't have to wait long…

Her boyfriend blew his nose on me later that night, and tossed me from the window of a moving car.

I hit the pavement lightly and rolled several feet, amazed that I was still alive when a gust of wind sent me straight into an open sewer grate. I fell about six feet and landed in some slimy mud.

Look, I know it’s sad… but a rat found me almost immediately and took me to his nest, where I remained quite comfortable and warm.

I died two months later during a rough birthing procedure, but here I am!---on the internet!

How did it happen? I don’t know, but I feel different…

Like maybe I grew up a little…

Please, if you see my waitress tell her I forgive her, and miss her terribly.

A. Poem.