Scrounging for boogers wrought my damn nostrils nearly to bust

Warning: The following material no worse than getting cooties. I remember them way back in grade school, whereat everyone ran away from me with worse luck than Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, who kissed the girls and made them cry, when the girls came out to play, Georgie Porgie ran away.

My humblest apology
if the following account
doth gross thee out
forlorn childhood of mine,
but remembrance of things
past icky and sticky
bumper crop of divine
nose diving delectable
diamonds secreted by
the mucous membranes
of the respiratory
passages, especially when
produced in excessive
or abnormal quantities,
e.g., when someone
is suffering from a cold
found further ostracization
of me tantamount
being shipped off
to a leprosarium.

As a chronic gold digger
in early grade school,
specifically within nasal passages,
I excelled at
locating awesome gooey gems.

The pinky seemed
most opportune for
button nose of mine as most
convenient handy dandy
blue's clues implement
to mine for juicy
succulent wads of yuck.

Early academic ex: pear
re: ants helped refine
delicate art of reaching
pitch perfect snot.

This individual craft essentially
entails extensive dexterity
in conjunction with
recognizing ideal picking time.
If one plunges
the little finger prematurely,
nothing but a glob
of gook will dribble out.

Best to wait until rock
hard sensation felt
when applying pressure to
either nostril.

The consistency of rock candy the
best analogy for this
other than tasteful habit
instinctively learned when
being housed in the womb.

Upon birth one
or more phalanges often
solidly locked where mucus generated.

This common medical
condition frequently requires
delicate intervention
(usually minor surgery)
to separate glued
gummy intertwined proboscis
from fleshy mitts.

As a natural born miner for
the most moist
and choice septum byproduct,
this lad as one gangly
whipper snapper mastered
the art of sifting
thru the sinus cavity to extricate
boulder sized buggies
wrote the book on the
ole factory chews.

Unlike many other young
children who fancied
this fun hunt for miniature crusty
crab cakes like formations
as delectable treats,
this grown man
when a little boy chose
to paste them on under
side of his desk.

No particular strategy for affix
sing goop upon
the underneath section of old
fashion unit (whereby
the top opened up and
provided a dish like formation
to store materials)
motivated this daily
cultivating for ripe buggies.

Within very few months,
the front most section
became quite thick
with wads of buggies that
quickly hardened into
scaly coating displeasing
even to my
high tolerance for gross.

Since no preliminary
measure for measure
took place to map out
where to place
the collection of daily glob,
inevitable contact took place
with aging dried
buggies that felt
like molting shells of insects.

Nightmares eventually
took place incorporating
this scary goblin
like creature (usually dripping
lugi with mossy slime),
which sought out his
insatiable hunger for buggies.

In these dreams,
I tended to be honored
with razor sharp fangs
and dagger type fingernails.

The latter came
in particular service
to probe my pinocchio-
sized smeller with
amazing ease to scrape
practically to the brain
(and perhaps some
grey matter did
get unintentionally removed)
to appease the buggy monster.

Soon after wake
king up in a start
from this nightmare (when
outsize still pitchblack),
a blurry image seemed
to dart away
leaving soggy footprints
closely resembling phlegm!