Madaraxuchiha1337

Destroy This Poem To the person grading this poem To the kind, patient woman hovering over this with a pen Waiting to say kind, patient words in response, do me a favor: Stop it. Don’t Patronize me. I did not slave over this with hammer and anvil Shaping it into a masterpiece. I didn’t paint it onto the ceiling of some church, Going blind from the pain and the stress. I didn’t even turn this in on time. And while I’m writing this in my fifth-period economy class, You can bet I’m not concerned with iambs and troches and Italian terza rima. No, I’m concerned with how much water is left in my water bott