Shakespeare hates my poems

In this fast-paced world, nothing waits for you.


.
.
.

The power- of my youth explodes
when the abandoned roar- sounds.
Methinks the scandal- might erode,
after I thrash your freshness,
and smear-the icing 'round.

When the orients talk- in hushed tones
and- the monks use the third,
a chantin'- groan and drone.
You seek the image- of a friend
a furlong away- at most.

One- Three Three- Seven,
one- to be revered,
nothing left to be- desired.
Pondering retort- for dopema-ma
yet again- aspire.

When a man- saunters- on his nubbins,
your whinges faint- il-legit.
You skimp him once- twice.
Though- 'our wages left finite.

Kohl- to cross the luggag-es,
petty cash for 'our 'troubles'.
Zeros and ones in a crypt-ic code,
make a three-point turn.
The power- of my youth explodes.

are you my babydaddy??