Yeah I'm a teen,
but what does that really mean?
Well I certainly don't crush candy
and at times I get a little bit randy.
But there's very little of the world I've seen.

See, because this is a limerick,
I have to be a little sick.
Spouting off ideas that make no sense.
The only thing to say in my defence:
"Well you can just **** a big, fat brick."

Alas, every poem needs an end,
and we delete, scratch, scribble, make amends.
Never knowing when to stop,
Or what content we need to drop.
What's that? Oh, excuse me, I have a fake meeting to attend...