A sonnet
I wrote an English (Shakespearian) sonnet for AP English today.
“Poetry is the worst thing in the world,
worse than war and death and pestilance stuff,
and plague, you can’t forget plague. When my curled
fingers move this pen, one word is enough,
I die a bit inside. You don’t know that, 5
I bet, but you do now, know that I like
writing poetry less than wearing a hat.
The preceeding sentence made no sense, like
things David occasionally says. One
day I won’t have to write poetry any- 10
more, but that day is not soon. Mister Donnne,
the poet, must have had problems many.
I am done with this poem, hooray! hooray!
I feel as happy as Robert Goulet!”
William Shakespeare can lick my ball sack. Speaking of him, I lost my Shakespeare virginity the other day in that class. Before that day, I had managed to go my entire life without reading one word of his work (except, of course, for some work on my senior project, but that doesn’t count.) The offending poem was Sonnet #?, which he blatently pagiarized from Elivs Costello.