I sit before the toad-like squirt,
holding her vicious quill.
I wish I could wipe off the smirk,
but I fight against my will.


On and on, I write the words,
I must not tell lies.
A growing rage swirls in me;
a fire burns in my eyes.


The toad looks at me with eyes so gleeful,
sneering at my task.
I keep my gaze down, seemingly calm,
my face is an unreadable mask.


On and on, on and on,
I write, ignoring the pain.
I know I have to do this job,
my anger is in vain.


Blood drips down my wrist,
the parchment is stained.
If I have to keep this on,
’tis my pride that will be pained.


At the close of the hour, the toad looks up
and summons me to her desk.
I obey; I cringe for that,
I know it is a test.


My wounds give her pleasure, my latent anger glee;
she examines my hand, and tells me to leave.
I obey again; I cringe for that,
but one day, I swear, I’ll take revenge on that rat.



A/N: First ever poem; I'm an amateur, I know. Please review and tell me what you think.