I can't stand my crooked teeth.
The ones up top are underneath
my nose. Suppose my proboscis
weren't big. No pig would sniff like this.
No snout about the size of mine
would grace the face of any swine;
nor forehead gleeming, seeming wide
compared to where my hair is tied
in knots with snot, ear wax, and turds.
I'm gruesome, in so many words,
and hate to see me say sometimes
I hate to wait, so make these rhymes
compound my sounding off here, ranting
sick with all the sycophanting
phrases made today, somehow,
I hate that I must end this now.
In my picture, you can see
someone much like Alfred E.
Neuman - human, worry free,