Who Told You I Can Write Poems

The poems that I write….

Why do I write them at all?

Not for others to read…

I wish not to appall them at all

The crap that I churn out takes a lot of time,

but I guess I can’t whine

I polish a worthless stone,

hallucinating I’m making a diamond shine!

But the shit that comes out finally

brings me back to the ground

Constipated as it often gets,

needs some coaxing around

It’s a struggle to get it out,

but what comes out is never worth a dime

But I keep exercising my bowels,

thinking it’ll help me do better next time!

It’s peace after it comes out,

but I dare not expect it’ll please another

While I might still love my own fart;

I need the good sense to spare the other

To me it’s catharsis, to them it’s torture;

It makes my stupid thoughts wander and expand

Huh! I can polish the stone as much as I want,

that it’ll shine as a diamond, I quickly disband!

Unlike all my pretentious poems

which struggle to get excreted

This one just rushed out with no control,

like a diarrhoea, quite unexpected

Much as I enjoyed it without a shame,

I have already popped in a pill

To arrest this runny poem right away,

lest the reader starts to feel ill!