I blame you for making me write all these sonnets
I tried to make the best of it, but five?
How in the ******* world am I supposed to write five?
Doesn’t each sonnet take the course of a week?
And it definitely seems that we don’t have five weeks
To write five pristine perfect sonnets
I’d rather read fifty poems than write five of these stupid things
I’d like the meet the man who decided these poems
Had to be fourteen lines, stylized rhymes
I’d say, go to hell with you and this torturous format
Instead of making me write these many poems
All in the same style, all droaning on in my mind
Like an endless treadmill of poem-writing
I say I’ll do better on the next assignment, but truthfully
I’m improvising

YOUR A **** UP

Disappointed.
Failure.
Hatred.
Unlovable.
Stupid.
Immature.
D­isgraceful.
**** UP.

There isn't any way around it. You are such a **** UP.
You ruined everything. Nothing is savable.
Where did you go so wrong?
How did you get caught?
******* it you stupid girl. Wake Up.
YOUR NOTHING.

There’s never any pausing with you.
You’re always asking me to do more things for you.

what am i supposed to say
when it feels like i should say nothing?
should i just stay quiet and miserable,
or say things that could bring on a horrible battle...
i think i’d rather crawl back into my bed.

I cry while I remember the look you gave when I got it wrong
Again
Now you've ripped my comfort way from me
The one who didn't look down on me
The one who got me to understand

You're surprised at the effect?
No you are not
You knew
but
You didn't care

So be it
Guess I'll cry every time I don't understand
Everyday

Isolation

I found your bracelet in my underwear drawer.
I put it there because I wanted it to be surrounded by delicate things,
And it reminded me of the way you pushed back that blue hair
With one fell swoop.
It reminded me of the gentle way you'd wrap me
In your arms and whisper in my cold ears,
"You're my best friend."
It reminded me of the way you so softly laid in that tub,
Porcelain skin shining and glassy doll eyes.
You were delicate.
Like the way those soft pin ****** lined your fleshy skin
I wanted what was left of your delicacy,
To be surrounded by beauty.
Because beauty is only found in pictures now
And delicacy is only how you live inside my chest.

Please be patient with me,
I know, sometimes I get angry
over rather stupid things.
Usually because I want your time,
your affection...
I know in the end,
we're not disconnected.