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I wrote a poem about a headless pigeon i saw on a roof.

Monday 14th Mar 2022

Told my mum she smelled nice this morning. She said I smelled like vomit. I don’t think I want to go to school anymore. She was joking I think, but still.

Thought I saw the cross-eyed bloke at the bus stop again. Couldn’t really tell because he was wearing sunglasses.

Saw my reflection in one of those plastic display cases when I got to school. My hair looked mental. It looks like one of those fancy-dress clown wigs minus the colours. I really need that haircut, but I can’t be bothered. I kinda think it suits me though, so I guess it’s not all that bad.

I saw a girl with a really big nose. They say if you have a big nose, you have a big penis. What if a girl has a big nose? Is there a female version? Like if she has a big nose, she also has big boobs or something. If a bloke has a big nose, they’re ugly, but they have a big penis so it’s not all bad. If a girl has a big nose, she’s just ugly. No perks that come with it. Doesn’t seem fair. Although, I did meet a guy who had a big ugly nose and a small penis. He also had a girlfriend. I have never been so surprised in my life. He wasn’t even that good of a person either. He was the type of bloke to spend his lunch break showing you pictures of cats on his phone. No idea how he pulled her. Sort of makes you think anything is possible.

I honestly have no idea how all these knob heads have girlfriends and I don’t. To be fair though, their relationships only last about 4 months.

Apparently, it’s world pi day today. The maths department was celebrating it. They had baked a bunch of pies. Hahahahahahaha, very funny maths department. They had left crumbs all over my chair and table. I was really annoyed.

I spoke to the crystal healing girl. She said she makes a wish every day at 11:11. I said my wish every day at 11:11 will be for her wish to not come true for a laugh. She got really angry at me. It was hilarious.

I accidentally upset Rob because I said chess is a board game. I have no idea why that upset him because it’s true. It’s a silly thing to get upset about too. If chess isn’t a board game, what is it?

We’ve been doing revision in our lessons because we have mock exams all this week. I don’t have any exams until Tuesday.

For English, we are looking at A Christmas Carol. I’ve been revising that in my lessons. I’m pretty sure I know it like the back of my hand. The Muppets A Christmas Carol used to be my favorite Christmas movie, so I’m pretty familiar.

I also have an English GCSE on poetry. I wish part of the poetry exam included writing a poem, I’d be very good at that. Unfortunately, it’s just analysing poems that have already been written. I hate the education system, it sucks dick.

While sitting in English, I noticed a dead pigeon on the roof that the window overlooks. Good riddance, that’ll be one less bird shitting on me.

I remember in an RS lesson this one time, a headless pigeon fell out of the sky and landed on a roof. It exploded in a puff of feathers and looked rather flat because it had been dropped from a height. I laughed at it, but my RS teacher got angry because she was vegan. I have no idea how that even happens. How does a pigeon lose its head mid-flight? My theory is either it had been partially eaten by a bird of prey and dropped from the sky or it got hit by a plane. Either way, it made the RS lesson funny.

Thought I’d write this week’s poem about the headless pigeon that fell from the sky.

Headless pigeon falling from the sky.

How that happened, we’ll never know why.

It landed on the roof with a splat.

Falling from that height, it ended up flat.

Headless pigeon can no longer sing.

His head is gone, he can’t do anything.

Poor little guy fell from the sky.

Without a head, he can no longer fly.

Some say aliens, I say a plane.

One less bird to shit on me, let’s celebrate with champagne!

Headless pigeon on the roof top.

He’s made a mess, grab a mop.”

You can tell I’m running out of ideas at this point. My first poem was an absolute banger, but now I’m writing about shitty headless pigeons. How bad will it get? How little creativity will I have left? Next thing you know, I’ll be writing a poem about some moss I found on the floor in a car park or something. Just some random shit only desperate people write about. People have been pressuring me to write a poem every week, so what do they expect?

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