When the baker bakes the baked bakery bakes,
Do they also bake the recipe required?
What's the recipe for a poem?
Does the poet pen the poetical poem poetically to pen their pretty poems?
What temperature do you bake ink-
To make it a bestseller?
How much baking powder do you bake into a page
To perfect its pagey turny pageiness?
What kinda poem crust does a poem become encrusted in?
Should it crumble?
Should it rhyme?
Should it cry a melodrama so dramatic that drama llamas like “that too much drama!”?
Wait,
Where did drama llama come into this?
Who else is in the kitchen cooking this poem pie?
Is the poem pie perfectly pied in its drama crust?
WAIT-
we forgot about the filling…
What do you put in a poetical poem pie?
Should I peach the pied poem?
The peaches plumpy peachy smile?
(i’m not sure how the drama llama feels about that)
Should I fill the peachy pied poem with orange and lemon citrus ?
A little bit of snazz to the snazzy apple pie.
Crap, I forgot the apples as well.
Well now my peachy pied lemony apple-orange poem is too long!
And i still don’t know what temperature to torch these thoughts at!
Well the pied piper pipes in that maybe my peachy pied poem needs some pepper
To pipe the spice to pied poem levels!
But lemony apple-orange peachy pied poems with pepper seems a touch peppery for simple pied poems to be.
But who ever said a poem pied can’t have spice and everything nice WITH lemon and apple and orange and peachy fuzzy smiles?
So,
My peachy peppered pied lemony appley orangy poemy is piping hot to boot.
Now i just need to figure out whos gonna eat the **** thing.

I wish, I wish for the words to write a poem,
That I could find the right verse to drive my point home.
I wish and I wait and push at the gate
Holding emotions and syllable notions
Deeper and further than bottoms of oceans.

It seems so quite silly that ideas in my head
Cannot be opened with pens or pencil-tip lead.
And the simplest worries paint layers so blurry
When I ponder the things each person has said,
That I lay and try to look far ahead.

Frustrated, elated, hated and jaded,
I cannot decide to which feeling I'm fated.
Any every day or two, out of the blue
A problem arises that seems newer than new.

Each time I imagine a poem is the solution
To what has become such a nuisance,
But I soon find I lack the presence of mind
To rhyme my words just so.

I'm so good at poems I'm like Karl Marx
Pop tarts
Karl was the best poet

I don't know why I'm so good at poetry
It's just my skill, Phil
Dr. Phil, Bobby Hill, Flour Mill

I have all the dope rhymes
I like to eat red vines and read the New York Times
Why are you so bad at poems?
Stop being bad and be good, I wish you could

Binary Code is so poemy
Just so insanely good

I'm the best poet to ever live
Mom