sonnet 142 (angry vent, sorry)

“Loving you is my sin, and your precious virtue consists in hating my sin, a hate grounded in your own sinful loving. But compare my moral state with your own, and you’ll see I don’t deserve to be reprimanded, or if I do, not from those lips of yours, which you’ve dishonored by using too much. Your lips have kissed as many people and made as many false promises as mine have, and both of us have cheated on our partners, giving away sexual favors where they don’t belong. If I may be allowed to love you the same way you love those other men whom you seduce with your glances, have a little pity for me; then you’ll deserve to be pitied yourself. If you want people to take pity on you and sleep with you, but you don’t show pity for me, you might be turned down because of your own example.”

You got into this trying to become someone that others can look up to. Now you only promote unhealthy habits and cry yourself asleep alone. No matter who’s bed you’re in. You may be faster, but that only means your faster at hopping into your grave. I’ve grown from my sins, and have made up more than enough for it. Now matter how good I’ve become or how even better I will become, I’ll never fit into your pictures. I’ve only come to realize this moments ago, and I understand. You’ve got the mind of a bunny, and you don’t want your bunny friends to know the tortoise was your guidance counselor. I definitely don’t deserve that, there’s no excuse in the world or in the clouds that could ever justify that. My only sin now is my delusion of having to still worry and care. However, that’s too cruel, even if it’s just. If it’s a race you want, you got it, but we all know the hare never beats the tortoise. Hop along, little rabbit, we’ve learned all we can from you.

(again, I apologize. But some people actually DO kick you when you’re down while you’re just having a sip of tea. Big fat jerk. f word.)

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Filed under non-fiction metaphor, non-fiction rambling, poetry, rhetoric

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