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Pooetry

Brown Queef Grief

I wash my hands then brush my teeth.
Time to deposit a stinky brown queef.

But it’s come too soon, I have to suppress.
Squeezed tightly my butt cheeks are pressed.

While holding this clench, it’s tricky to walk.
From within my crack, my bum tries to talk.

A fart escapes but luckily I’m in the clear.
Thankfully I was alone, no one was near.

I reach the loo and begin the countdown.
I reach zero and blast off with a loud brown.

I check my pants from that earlier fart.
A smear was left where the queef did depart.

Pure Pooetry

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