An ode to the T R O double L

You bomb me and flame me with dilligent precision,
yet often leave grammer and spelling with complete indicision.

I write and I pour my soul into these words.
You sit there jeaulous and utterly disturbed.

Anon is your name, your title, your shelter.
Here I am exposed to you, without want nor comfort.

I tell how I feel, show you what I mean.
Your response it unkind, usually obscene.

I sit here and laugh, thanking you inside.
For your annonymous comments, tell me I've arrived.