Zoon Milkcarton, I barely knew thee. Seriously. I really barely knew who you are. I know a couple One Direction songs and drunkenly bought/watched the One Direction movie, but my knowledge of you pretty much ends there. I had to Google how to spell your name.
What I do know about you, Zebra Marblecounters, is that teenage girls everywhere are desperately crying because you quite One Direction. As a self-proclaimed undedicated and unenthusiastic One Direction groupie, I felt it was my duty to honor your parting from the band, so I wrote you this poem, using only what I currently know about you.
Z is for Zayne, how I thought your name was spelled.
A is for accent, the only thing that makes you forever and indisputably sexier than any man in America.
Y is for yuck. I feel like there are some foods out there that you don't really like.
N is for narwhal, because you've proven to a very beautiful narwhal. Just look at that horn!
M is for music. I hear you like that.
A is for Alabama, a state you resemble in absolutely no way at all, which is a good thing.
L is for legs, those poor things you've kept trapped and suffocating inside skinny jeans tighter than mine, that I hope will find freedom just as you've found your own freedom.
I is for Ingland, because that ignorant spelling of your homeland is as ignorant as the turn this poem took.
K is for Klondike bar, tough on the outside but smooth and sweet in the center. Is that what your personality is like?
Zelda Malvolio, I wish you well in all your future endeavors, and may they be less limited than my knowledge of you. If I could leave you with one last thought, it is this, Zesty Magic Marker: Britney Spears once took a break from music and shaved her head. You probably should too. Not that I want you to spiral out of control or anything, but I really don't think your poor fans could take it, and nothing would make me happier than to see more videos of prepubescent girls crying for irrational reasons.
Your least dedicated fan