If Shakespeare wrote a sonnet describing my life, he'd title it horseshit
Despite eyeing the mess each day and smelling the boredom it wafts
I'm doing nothing to clean it up
Instead, I'm writing sonnets about it.
YOU ARE READING
Daisy Chains {Completed}
PoetryIn which a nineteen-year-old shows you snapshots of her freshman year (and the following summer) through paragraphs and pretty adjectives. | completed / updated sporadically
