I, Rebel.

[[ A/N: We had to study John Donne, the English metaphysical poet in English during this term. Our teacher instructed us to write an Elizabethan sonnet, consisting of 14 lines and an octave (first eight liens) and a setet (last 6 lines). We were told to write it about something preferably to do with prejudice, love, or a subject related to Donne's poetry...or just something meaningful to us.

I chose the subject of labels, a small amount of rebellion and general annoyance to cliques.]]

Who the hell are you to tell me who I
am? I, a rebel, a rebel to be,
Am not a saint, but yet I will not lie;
I don't care! I don't care what you think of me!
I strive to be different, and not the same,
I don't want to be like you in anyway.
For that in itself would earn me a name,
And that, for the last time, is not okay.
So now, I guess, I walk, I walk alone,
For you will never change the way you think.
Is it all my fault that I should have known?
All that, it seemed, was just the missing link.
So farewell, I hope you meet your own fate,
But where will we all go when its too late?