“Poem about the chicken bag stuffy being sentient but unable to communicate in any way“

Over and over they stuff my bottom

My family forsaken me, my legacy forgotten

And all to use me as a place for bags

With every piece of trash, my organs sag

Slowly and surely, they continue to shop

I don’t know my limit, but why won’t they stop?

We already have plenty here at home

I wish I were with my friends, where I could roam

But instead I got turned into this bag stuffy

My intestines pushing against me, feeling more puffy

Soon enough, my life will end

But I don’t think they will never spend.