With Feigned Apologies

I wrote what I thought was a 'poem' some years ago, but it lacked rhythm, rhyme, and had no smooth flow. Its imagery was blurry, and it filled my heart with grief to read the overdose of alliteration, so far beyond belief. To be quite blunt, it was a freakin, fricken, flippen flop. I was distraught reading what I'd written and had to stop. "W T F W T?" I shouted at myself in complete disgust! Had I just said that aloud? Was I so irked that I'd cussed? The vibrato pulsing in my voice shook the high bookshelf, and on the floor fell the pimp... the spying Christmas elf! "Stay there you lil bugger!" I yelled down at him. "You suck!!" I could've sworn he made a mental note for Santa. W T F? Threw him in the trash. With greasy, yucky stuff he went. I sat at my keyboard, deciding time would be better spent in writing poetry that would supersede that piece of crap. I wanted to clear myself of fault and put on my thinking cap. The first line read, "My muse is older, and I should scold her..." But I heard a loud gasp and felt a hard punch on my shoulder. Atop my head she beat me with a broom!, Yes, I was struck from behind. I saw blind fury in her eyes and yelled, "W T F?"