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Pooetry

Brown Crown

Here I sit awaiting the drop,
Praying to the almighty god of plop.

I utter the sacred words of disgust,
“Please lord, spare my butthole from going bust.”

Now cometh the rising sensation,
My faith in the brown has no explanation.

The time to push is right at hand,
Squeezing with accurate force is the simplest plan.

Too much grunt will leave me less of a man,
Too little force will leave me in a right jam.

Like a snail descending a steep slimy wall,
My birthed brown oozes out at a crawl.

Slowly and silently the first nugget emerges,
Though I want to speed it up, I resist the urges.

Thank you oh Lord of Poo for thee I bless,
Please do let me make too much of a mess.

The final deposit slumps into it’s watery grave,
The fleeting feeling leaves my dark brown cave.

The god of turd always hears my prayers,
Kindly taking away from me my brown shares.

Thank you oh Lord of Poo for your holy-shit sacrament,
Since praying to you I’ve never once had an accident.

Such joy, you too could be blessed by the fecal apoostle,
The enlightenment of brown requires only your poo-stool.

In the name of turds to drown your sacrifice will weigh down,
Just let the fecal flow down and give your bowels to the brown crown.

Pure Pooetry

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