Carrots

As I mentioned previously I have been reading a book about writing. The author says to just write without worrying about whether you are spelling right and stopping to think too much. I later said to myself that this bit I wrote sounded like a poem:

CARROTS

Carrots, the way she made them
Which was boiled,
And we were surprised,
Or I was, that just carrots could be so good,
Reminds me of Mrs. B, every time.

Something I could think of
To like about Mrs. B,
Whose tongue cut me deeper
Than the wound I got from cutting carrots.

I still happily eat carrots,
The way she made them, which was boiled,
Reminds me of Mrs. B, every time.

But this time I stop to consider -
She was more than carrots or a sharp tongue.

Carrots, the way she made them,
Which was boiled,
Reminds me of Mrs. B, every time.
I don't like much pepper.

This came from the following stream of consciousness paragraph:

Carrots the way she made them which was boiled and we all were surprised or I was that just carrots could be good reminds me of Mrs. B. She probably seasoned them with butter and salt and pepper. I don't like much pepper.