There’s an expectation of a writer
That even in her weakness she be strong.
That her darkness will somehow be lighter
And her musings won’t take so very long.
I know that you expect optimism
And a truth that won’t break your tiny bank.
My insight won’t be a solipcism
And I am not trying your chain to yank.
Now this part of the Sonnet must unveil
The opposite of all I’ve said above
Without biting it’s own fictional tail
And convince readers that it’s meant with love.
And somehow make you think I have a point
That will open our eyes and rise above
Some rapping G girl’s sad-assed busted joint.
So it is with relief we limp to the end
bend fend lend mend pend send tend vend and wend!