I think I'll just stand up here and mentally masturbate

If I splatter a thought on you, please don't wipe it away with distaste

I can't help it, poetry just gets my creative juices flowing

Even if my poem's selfish, I get off just from knowing

That I have a crowd to be voyeurs to my self-satisfying tryst

And I think that you all know by now that I'm an exhibitionist

To letting my thoughts flow freely in a crowded room

All of my relentless vernacular shiningly well-groomed

But, this is a habit that's just too hard for me to deny

Not that I even want to, it's something I enjoy, why try

So, please excuse me while I finish this self-stroking thought process

This fleeting moment of pain I'll gently caress

It could be something about my mom not loving me tonight

But, that's not the kind of painful memory that will get me off right

Maybe I could go with prejudice against Jews because I was overcharged for a Slurpee

Nah, It's been done too many times by political poets better at that than me

Maybe I'll talk about that one girl who I fell in love with at a café

Talk about overdone, that should be last on my things to say

Maybe I should talk about how all of my friends committed suicide

I've already done that, and doing things twice is not good for my pride

Hmmm… I hope I don't get a writer's block on my poetry

That's a harsh line of thought, dare I say it, poetic sterility

This isn't what I intended when I came up here, I just wanted painful ecstasy

Now I stand here with a limp mind and a lukewarm fantasy

And this was my time to shine, mentally masturbating my pain

Scattering deep thoughts on all of you like a harsh rain

I know you wanted to see something profound, sorry for taking up your time

With less than painful verbs to pronouns, maybe next week I'll write a more pounding rhyme.

-David "Dingo" Bleecher