Inconsistencies Poem by Stan Petrovich

I loathe inconsistenties-
In food, in plans that change on a sudden,
Of people who morph their minds regarding itineraries.
I must be grounded in foregone conclusions
Or anxiety is disquieting: OCD.
I think like a game of Chinese Checkers,
Round and round moving solidly,
A direction premeasured.

So when you give me instructions,
And then they change,
My hair needs pulling.
Thus life is torture, throwing
Curveballs at which I swing and miss.
Another good reason to repudiate rhyme,
The disease of rhyme.
I must write this stuff freely,
Even disregarding iambic pentameter,
Which is inconsistent.
But I emulate Will Shakespeare,
For his tragedy alone
By which I set my watch.