A Bad Poem's Sad Lament

Oh why was I born a bad poem!
Born self aware and educated.
To be cast among poetry fodder,
This cruel death I am fated.

Oh why couldn't I be written,
However atrocious and absurd
By a Byron, Keats or Shelley,
Assured that I'll be heard.

But I'm scribed by an idiot,
Who can't spell for tofffeee.
And is drunk as a skunk,
Always drinking Irish Coffee.

And then there is the rhyme,
All forced to make it fit.
And here's a small example,
It all reads likes hit.

So now ends my sad lament,
By a bad poem ignored by you.
If found please end my suffering,
And tear me quickly in two.