I. Hate. Sonnets.

I really hate sonnets. Especially Shakespearean sonnets. But, whadda ya know, my English teacher made each of us one. Great. And it was due today. I know I failed at the "write it down off book" because I could NOT remember the last three lines for my life. I could remember the last three WORDS, but not the last three LINES.
I guess was ahead of some of my friends, though. One thought it was due on Thursday, so she hadn't even picked one out until the block before. Two others knew what theirs were, and one sort of knew hers and one couldn't remember hers for her life. And those were HER words, not mine. So I guess I was ahead of at least some people, even though Sonnet 133 has to be the weirdestly worded sonnet in existence (and I KNOW that "weirdestly" is not a word, but I do not care). And ONLY William Shakespeare would come up with something like "Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan" and "And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee." ONLY Shakespeare. Not ONE other poet do I know of that can pull something like that off. ONLY him. I guess that's why so many people are like, "Shakespeare is such a great poet! YAY!" Why? Because you don't get anything he's saying, so therefore it must be profound? Not to a high schooler. Maybe not even to most adults does fifteenth-century-talk make ANY sense whatsoever. So BOO YA for being able to remember most of a sonnet.
But the rest of them need to go burn and die.