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08 April 2015 @ 06:27 pm
singpowrimo day 7: (not) a midsummer night's dream  
prompt 1: woo your favourite poet.
prompt 2: write a ghazal.
bonus: post two poems.


DISCLAIMER: this is entirely un-serious. it is not poetry. i would like to tell you i tried. and i did try, except that this was the result. i'm sorry to all the shakespeare lovers out there i have truly sinned pls forgive me [falls to the ground crying]

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last night i dreamt that shakespeare was in love with me.

in the dream, i woke up to find him trying to turn on my laptop. i asked him what he was doing, and he replied, “why, m’lady, i woke up this beautiful morning and thought of thy beautiful face. but i could not find any paper nor wood with which to remember thy beauty, and so i am here, using this piece of technology thou owns.”

i pulled his hand away from my laptop gently. “william, darling, i’m sorry, but as much as you understand how my laptop functions, i too understand your language.”

his moustache was twitching. “does thou not comprehend the language of love? fear not! upon this ground i stand on, i shall give you a poem of love.”

“hoe don’t do it-”

“shall i compare thee to a summer’s day? thou art more lovely and more…” he looks at the smudged writing on his hand. “......desperate.”

“oh my god.” i tear up a little. when did william learn to meme?

“my lady, your tears are to your face as rain is to a garden filled with flowers. but your garden is eternal, and only grows more beautiful with the changing seasons.”

“william, i am having a moment. do not tell me i look beautiful while crying, my nose turns red,” i tell him sternly, while trying to recall when he had gone on tumblr.

“but a nose by any other colour would smell just as well,” he answers solemnly, stroking his beard. i put a hand to his chin.

“crave that beard like a goat which craves that mineral,” i whisper.

“you...you are the first person to tell me you crave my beard,” he clutches a hand to his chest. “o my mistress, where have you been all my life?”

“unborn,” i tell him.

he soldiers on. “without you, my life is memeingless.”

OH NO, A PUN, my inner self yells at me. and then i wake up.

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shakespeare isn't even my favourite poet it's literally just bad fanfiction don't ask me what i was thinking when i wrote this, the answer is nothing