To my brother at the bus stop.
Me: I'm writing a SONNET about my FEELINGS.
Brother: Oh god, are you fourteen? When was the last time you wrote a sonnet?
Me: ... About a month ago. When I die, they're going to be like
Brother: Jesus, she sure wrote a lot of these.
Me: At least we can recycle the paper.
Brother: Oh god, are you fourteen? When was the last time you wrote a sonnet?
Me: ... About a month ago. When I die, they're going to be like
Brother: Jesus, she sure wrote a lot of these.
Me: At least we can recycle the paper.