KiraVerityforever

Beware the grammar gangsters! The mafia of the literary underworld. They saunter into stanzas, Weapons concealed Under their trench coats Or in violin cases. They can make you talk, "With just a few well-placed speech marks," Leave you shouting! Where you should have whispered! And pulp your bold statements into quavering questions? They can, pepper, your, phrases with, commas, Or bring your piece to a dead. Full. Stop. They'll trap you (between brackets) As you - dash - to the exit. Then: punch a blunted colon Into the gut of your text Or worse; Force-feed you a poisonous semicolon, Then hack/slash your work to shreds. T

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