Is this a poem?

Renouncing love, even swearing celibacy, enamored by the promised serenity of solitude, of not having to pretend for another's validation, I held my head up high and walked through the cafe thinking myself to have risen above It. My haughtiness in full strength thinking it invincible, I walked by her as she said to her date " you're gonna have to write it down for me then" And I was driven to a jealous homicidal rage, almost at an instant, cursing each individual member of the Moira sisterhood that they had churned the gears of fate in a way that he'd ended up by her side and I had not, while simultaneously begging them to allow me to get to swallow her spit drooping from her solemn feet, all the while philosophically aware of the futility of such burning passions, yet willing to die for her at a moments notice. Such it is, such it has always been, such will it always be, the incongruity of being a being driven by everything, while also harboring the fantasy of being a being that thinks themselves different and free Oh Ophelia, such is the human condition