Ego of fruit

old poem dump

Book book book
bock bock bock
I am a chicken
Bach Bach Bach,
A very talented chicken,
That writes very old music,
And has lived for over a few hundred years,

note note note,
Take note of this,
For I have just lied,
I am not at all a chicken or a composer,
I am a journalist,
Taking notes and writing random things,
With papers and staples,
A pencil at hand and a pen up my nose,
For one does run out of hands,
And I need a place to keep it,
And my mouth is for eating,

Omm nom nom,
I am also a goat,
Eating things that aren't edible,
Hence the pen best be kept from my mouth,
Because black teeth are not a pretty sight,
So now I shall bask in my beauteous inklessness,

Pretty pretty pretty,
I am so pretty,
I fear I have forgotten to mention,
That I am a princess,
a pretty pretty princess,
With silver rings and golden crowns,
Yes, I have more than one,
And wear them all at the same time,
Hence I feel less short,
With seven feet of crowns upon my brow,
There was once a time they felt heavy,
But nevermore!
For the muscles in my neck have grown,
Oh yes, they bulge nearly larger than the stack of crowns itself,
And because of this I am outrageously mocked,

Mock mock mock,
I am one letter from being a chicken once more,
At this rate I may as well be,
For I am to ashamed to admit what I really am,
Not a royal goat with crowns,
Nor an old composing chicken,
Nor a journalist with a pen up my nose,
Truth be told, I am...
A great green banana,
Serving no purpose but to wait in a bowl of other fruits.