One weekend I met with a camel
Who believed that he wasn't a mammal
I tried setting him right
But we got in a fight
Which resulted in chipped tooth enamel

For many long years I've been trying
to master the fine art of flying.
But each day I have found
myself stuck on the ground,
so I gave up and that's why I'm crying.

I think it's been once or maybe twice, I've hit my head when I slipped on some ice.
It's happened three times, maybe four, I've tripped over the step as I walked through a door.
Too many times, it seems to me, I've walked right into an upright tree.
Four times this week or even five, I've cut myself with butchers knives.

WHAT THE **** IS A POEM!?

In a spaceship of minimal girth,
I removed myself from planet earth.
At a quickening pace
I was ****** toward space
And away from the world of my birth.

Under the sky, where I normally stand,
I counted the number of lines on my hand
It took me a while to acknowledge each one
but at least I felt comfortable under the sun.

Then later that night, standing out in the mist,
I counted the number of scars on my wrist.
It was equal to that of the previous night
and I kept it that way for I felt it was right.

While sailing in the south pacific,
I thought about something terrific.
Of something I'd seen
When I was eighteen
But I guess that's not very specific.

A person with wings: Not a person at all.
A man in the sky is destined to fall.
A fish on the shore: Not a fish anymore!
A man in the sea with a boat, to explore.

My pocket is torn,
My hair is a mess.
There are stains,
There are footprints
all over my dress.

My muscles are sore,
My knees are both bruised.
And my legs
And my shoulders
have been overused.