An Ode To The Spot On My Chin

spot

Now and then you rear your head,

A sore, unsightly, vulgar red,

You sit so proudly on my chin,

Unwelcome neighbour to my grin.

A beacon here upon my face,

I wish you’d chose a different place,

Somewhere not so obvious,

You horrid little bump of pus.

I fight the urge to pop and pick,

The thought alone could make me sick,

All I can do is hope and pray,

I really wish you’d go away.

Each time I find you waiting there,

I make an oath and I swear,

From this point on I’ll exfoliate,

My skin shan’t be in such a state.

When my reflection shows I’m clear,

I’ll let out a joyful cheer,

Until then, to me your stuck,

You rancid, stupid, nasty ffff.

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7 thoughts on “An Ode To The Spot On My Chin

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