Am I, a simple poem,  
To be busted open
And ransacked 
Like an attic where
Cops are getting rough
Digging for illegal stuff?

Am I a drawer
To be rifled through
In search of a dumb sock
To match a dumb sock
What’s it to you 
when any old sock will do?

Am I a dusty old trunk 
full of cryptic junk?
Or a patient on a Gurney
Going for some kind of surgry
By a man in scrubs  
looking for bugs?

Scholars, they think too much
So very out of touch 
Always try to ruin meez 
with their weird analyseez
And hey you, kid! Forget about me 
Don’t look here, there’s nothing to see.