The Imperfect Sonnet

If only I was determined

Instead of doubt and uncertain,

If only I was persistent

Instead of quit and abandon.

They call me cute, I'm not sure why

For I am a stick, of hills and colors

They call me pretty, but iris lie

For they speak to my double knockers.

I am the bones running past flesh

I am the ripped wires 'pon my head,

My claws are the layers of string cheese

My chipped lips whisper chopped words.

Although, one's flaws and dismay

Is another man's strength and hooray.