(image credits to Haley Ferretti on Blogger)

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
— Sonnet 130, William Shakespeare

if anyone wrote a poem about me as an act of love but used such… unpleasant imagery I’d probably clobber him/her over the head first. nature is beautiful but this poem would be heartbreaking if the intention was misconstrued. nevertheless it’s a beautiful sonnet. I miss studying Literature in school. I miss school. I hate the real world. take me back. the real world, with all its appreciation for cold hard facts and figures, makes no allowances for the beauty of art forms such as poetry. I hate it.