Awful Rhyming Scheme

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The dictionary has many words for love But not what I’m accused of I’m a mopperist, exposing myself To blind people in the park Or when it starts to get dark I jingle my junk in their face
I was the first, the first of 8 kids. I want to sell the rest off. So start sending in the bids. Of brothers, I have 4. Of sisters, only 3. But sometimes I think my mum regrets, 
Poetry is my emotional dialectit combats my autocratic intellectblessed with irrefutable honestyit contributes to my allometry  
I’ve been living on this island for as long as I can remember. My arms span out like anchor, untethered My body this boat to swing across the sandy sea. He, a prophecy, projected in the miles of spillage
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