Can you help me make a prose into a poem?

For my English class we were asked to create a poem that didn't rhyme. I create a prose below and need help creating it into a poem. Can anyone guide me through this process? The assignment was to create an extreme that is strange but true. I passed this in and she asked me to work on it I just need some help! I need to cut it down and keep the images. Any help will be greatly appreciated! Through the dusty old rug we go to find the creature of the unknown. I never expected it to be, but my nephew refuses not to believe. Now we are in his matchbox car driving through a tornado of dust bunnies with the smell of feet lingering about. Each fluff of dust is a different shade of brown or grey. They keep flying at our faces so we must duck away. We come to an erupt stop. I look around and see nothing but a desert of crumbs, coins, and some more dust bunnies. Above us is a green sun that is icy rather than warm. I do not dare to get out of the matchbox and neither does he. We will just have to wait and see. A white figure begins to emerge from the desert of crumbs. It is the creature. It has large red eyes like he said with the white slim body. This cannot be. As he comes closer to us the smell of feet is just too much. I began to laugh and say just wake up. The white figure approaches the car. My nephew slides down in his seat. Amongst the creatures lies a bear. A bear that once was mine but was given to another. The creature hands it to me with its icy hands and glides back off into the land. This was the bear I had long ago; it has the missing eye and frightful bow. I embrace the startled little boy and give him the teddy. We shut are eyes and go to bed. A beam of light pierces through my bedroom window and upon my face. Once I open my eyes a look about. This was a familiar place and he is safe and sound. Amongst his arms lay the one eye bear. I laugh and begin to believe, I guess we truly were there.

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  1. stephen k Says:

    All you need to do at this point is work on formatting

    Through the dusty old rug
    we go to find
    the creature of the unknown.

    I never expected it to be,
    but my nephew
    refuses
    not to believe.

    Now
    we are in his matchbox car
    driving through a tornado of dust bunnies
    with the smell of feet
    lingering about.

    Each fluff of dust
    is a different shade
    of brown
    or grey.

    They keep flying at our faces
    so we must

    duck away.

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