Random Sonnet I

Here is a sonnet about a sonnet:

I:

The pattern of a sonnet isn't odd
It's more or less the way you tend to talk
And then the rhyming tends to make it flawed
Just like some irritating writer's block
But then the syllables come into play
With iambic what-not thrown around
You're running through the words all stinking day
And still you cannot find the perfect sound
And once you've got the pattern sorted out
Well, then you need a topic on your mind
I wouldn't let this stuff fill you with doubt,
But just so you don't have to go in blind
Remember not to end a line with orange
Cause everyone knows nothing rhymes with orange