Napowrimo said to do this, so I played with sonnet forms.
Shut up! I know the trash and sink are full.
I am not proud, I am making a point.
To have, to hold, make my nose out of joint.
The way that you push, the way I must pull.
I right and you wrong, sometimes the inverse.
Give me your worst, I too know your mettle.
I speak and you hear, a gift and a curse.
You give me that look, that’s how we settle.
Blah blah blah all the details invalid
I forget woes; I’ve made you a salad.
My words never spoken, all in my head
You give me more than whatever is said
The truth not withstanding, the fire is dead
And so we both eat and dispel the dread.
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