Seems I’m so vain, I need surgery
To pull out my veins listening to harmony
The process was tight and I wanted to bite
But I restrained my might, thinking, “What is the plight?”
I felt comfortably numb from the pricks
He stuck in my leg like wood ticks
Some sensations of stinging left my bells ringing
But soon it was dull and I lay there in lull
Between my teeth I did wince, It’s all for my vanity since…
Those big, ugly honkers were bulging like zonkers
The clipping and stripping was pulling a licking
The sensation was slow of his picking
My pretend flavor gum I was chewing
Made me think of all the cows mooing
So calmly they’re milked & relief they felt
And I just thought I would feel the same
The dressing fit snug as a rug
Made me think a moment of my mug
And should I do a lift or would it be a gift?
Serenely my thoughts soon did drift
Perhaps now my vanity’s humbled
Indifferent, ‘cuz someday it’ll crumble
And then I’m left to love whatever is above
And beyond my sinful self…SHOVE!
Ah…another poem for my shelf
But how would I know whether it helps…
If I don’t test it with all of my yelps?
Welp, thanks! That’s the end of my poem, Michael Phelps!