I'm writing a crappy poem, oh phew.
I'm not doing this for money.
I understand that I'm not the best at this, honey.
My rhyming structure is off.
I wish I had a pet moth.
I would name her Stacy.
I bet her mother has got it going on.
Maybe you and I could then write another generic song.
We could be like hobos, and sing it on the local corner.
I wish I had a pet rock.
I would name her Tracy.
Stacy and Tracy could sit in a tree.
I could then catch them K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
Why the hell would a moth even kiss a rock?
This is obviously a random thing I did on the fly.
I am well aware that I should have wrote about pretty objects and butterflies.
Nobody cares about rocks and moths.
I guess my brain is just going soft.
Well, this is the end.
Okay, I'm actually not done yet.
I'm writing this to inform the world of something.
I am like Stacy and Tracy.
Nobody seems to care for me.
I am now done for real.
Good day to me, Ms. Pretentious-tool.