I’m sick as hell with a nasty cold – holla to my weak-ass immune system – and in need of a good laugh. So, I figured I’d make fun of myself (again) and write a poem. I’m doing this freehand and I’m unsure what I’ll be calling it yet, obviously, you’ll know what it is once it’s published. These incorrect syllable counts are deliberate.
To be or not to be?
That is a stupid question.
Whether ’tis nobler to desire peach cobbler,
The world may never know.
This opening makes no sense,
Are you hanging in suspense?
Today I sneezed twelve times,
So hard, in fact, tears came from my,
Eyes are the window to the soul,
Food is the way to my heart.
Has its own line,
Six syllables of illnesses,
Six syllables of pain,
Six syllables of reasons to remember the name.
Cows go moo,
I cannot go poo.
I can’t hear with either of my ears,
Too bad I’m not allowed to have a couple of beers.
But it’s okay, alcohol tastes like shit.
Like my soul.
Tell me why my mouth is dry?
It’s not like I’m going to cry,
But I’d like to know why.
This supposed poem
Makes zero sense.
It barely rhymes,
rhymes are not for days.
The syllables are uneven,
I’m a white girl who can’t even.
Well, I laughed. I hope you enjoyed this really, really stupid poem and I use poem lightly.