The Twenty Second Poem

When I write
I write freely
You can hate the “ly” all you want but it’s the truth
Knobby and rough around the edges
My cock is the least of your worries, your worries are something I pushed aside a long time ago
I have all ways had a higher calling, because my Grandma told me so
And if they tell you that, at a young age, over and over again
You never give it up
So when I do things I do them freely
L-Y and all
I push out my thoughts like a PEZ dispenser
Cheap< Candy The stuff of childhood dreaming

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