Sonnets and Sestinas

Why must you plague me with your existence?
I never did anything to you.
Yet upon my teachers insistence,
I have to write one of each of you.

I have no quarrel with your limerick brothers,
your free verse uncles or your cousins the haikus.
Your lyrical sisters and your ballad mothers,
never had me singing the blues.

When I think of you I begin to pull my hair out,
starting to feel like a fool.
And as I began to scream and shout,
I know it's because of your many a rule.

Oh, it is the rules that I hate!
This is not the writer's goal.
They compress and constrict, and put up gates
That cage the writers soul.

There is nothing that is worth so much stress,
No truth could be closer on.
But I will not be told how I'm allowed to express,
since that's an oxymoron.

So please do not think any less of me,
because of my little protest.
But I'll never write you, you see,
For it is you I truly detest.