The dyslexic's lament

Wue is me.
No mattress how herd I fry, I con neptune get my words out property.
Since I was smell, it has been a custard sauce of irrigation.
At school they wood loaf at me.
Gills could never tape me celery,
and my workmates snickers and jive behind my beak.

Yet I have mutt a yam ladel.
She thunderclaps my conditioner.
She is per shunt, worm.
Canned, and sweat.
Whip hair hop, I wheel conker hiss hob treacle,
hiss damp dissleyxusicassasisaca.
Soap health me Good.