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mjad Nov 2017
everything moves too fast
the shelter of this bubble
is not slow enough
needles poking and prodding
it's about to pop
Lexi Nov 2017
I
am
a bottle.
Have you ever
filled a bottle with
Pop so much that it over
flows and sprays everywhere?
Put that into an emotion. I am a bottle. Filled with emotions that
threaten to be spoken, Thoughts that when I try to speak all I taste is fizz. Pointless. When you shake the bottle, you're ruining the way I carefully avoid eye contact and cautiously choose certain words. Ask me what's wrong and you're now opening the bottle. Get ready,
I am going to explode.
Late night or early morning thoughts..

I tried making it into a pop bottle shape.. ****
Snap,Crackle, and Pop!



Lifting a spoonful of nutrition out of my cereal bowl

I swallow a moment’s fuel

To rush through a moment

Due to situation’s Blows.

The horn sounds the time when you must prepare

to run this “rat race”

or lose the prizes as you are left behind

due to taking a turtle’s pace.

Everyone is competing to finish above everyone else

in this world of life to the success of passing the finish line.

In life’s race

Life follows the clock which measures moments and breaths of life

just as quick

as the “snap ,crackle, and pop!”

To which your milk doused corn cereal sounds

Start again with each bite full which  you spoon

Fuel for just one quick moment

until in life

Our breaths shall stop.
Spier Aug 2017
p  o  p  !
goes the
eyes   of
a
goddess
when   in
her hand
laid    the
mirror.

no    such
reflection
she    had
looked­ at,
like a still
before her

where  is
the pearl
complex-
ion she'd
smooth-
ened out
f     o     r
herself  ?
where  is
the   eyes
she    had
s   e   e  n
herself th
rough for
the    past
century  ?


"what is
t   h  i  s
malfun-
ction ? "

s  h  e
asked.


"it  is  the
i m a g e
of  souls,
d  e  a  r
goddess.
it  shows
n  o  n  e
but    the
t r u t h,"

said   the
y o u n g
daedalus.


the    dear
goddess
laughed.
a       mere
m o r t a l,
pondered
the  immo-
rtal,    who
d  a  r  e  s
tell        me
who i am ?

she  took  an
other     look
at   her   own
i   m   a   g   e

the   too   pale
skin   and   it's
monotonous
effect   on   her
bland         face

and           then,
she     smashed
the       imagery
of      her    own

s                            l.
   o          u
Sam Anthony Jul 2017
Welcome to the stage on which
Life is lived as a performance
Welcome to the office in which
Every day is a job interview, where
Work is nothing more than being looked at
And admired
And despised
And envied

Welcome to a new bank account, with
More money than anyone needs, and
More pressure than anyone deserves, to
Spend it as tabloids demand

Welcome to criticism, for clothing choices –
Too last-year
Too slutty
Too creative
Too similar to someone else
Not flattering enough
Not slutty enough
Not daring enough

Welcome to scrutiny, over
Every romantic detail
Every baby’s name
Welcome to mockery

Welcome to an opportunity to
Use your voice
Take a stand
Make a change
Welcome to pressure to
Toe the line
Stay mainstream
Take no risks

Welcome to a new form of slavery, offering
Wealth and adoration
Freedom for some and shackles for others
Welcome to a ruined, wasted life lived short of its potential –
Relationships missed
Role in the home passing by, and
A tempting, all-you-can-eat buffet of mental health issues

Welcome to a new status, to be
Cool
The centre of attention
Off trend
Forgotten

Welcome to the celebrity contradiction
Attention-grabbers, with
Demands for privacy

Welcome to someone just like
Me –
And
You
David Cunha Jul 2017
There are more stinky love poems than anything else.

Even I have written too many
Even I have written 1, sometimes, 2 full pages
But soaking the paper with tears.
Some go different, go joyful
And why?
Because love is easy to write about
It is the most powerful emotion only equal to hatred
Yet the most boring;
Unless it comes with anything attached
I yawn at those pesky stanzas of repeating gibberish.

Those who vainly describe love itself are cowards
Those who read them morbidly curious
And those who enjoy weak of mind,
For inftuated poems are the equivalent to a pop song
                                  easy to construct
                                  easy to deconstruct
                                  easy to marvel
                                  easy to cry at
                                  easy easy easy
                                  nothing new nothing learned

'O the perfect skin', 'O the glittering eyes', 'O the cheeky smile',

If you want to write about love put some mustard into it
And make it real
Don't waste my time, all lovers are marvelous I get it,

But what scars do they have?
And how many do they leave us with?
july 3, 2017
12:43 a.m.
Itzel Hdz May 2017
Worn out soles dragging through the pavement
bare eyes set on your shabby hands
grin to the sweet smell of my cheap perfume
take a second, cold wind blowing
in between the distance , offer your hand to mine
you know it's been a thousand years honey
vague dreams drove me all the way here
unknown fantasies traced a map for you
the wait was worth it
I take a step closer
fingertips meet
we hold our breath
an infinite moment, and then
worlds collide
a million colours beneath my eyelids
you are everything
in the middle of the road
the sand aside your classy car
every molecule in this vast desert
disappears
it was worth it sweet rollercoaster
the wait was worth it
January 9/2014
This is my favorite from what I've written
I wrote it for the love of my life
Whoever that is
Zero Nine Mar 2017
Do you remember pooping while you were high?

No.

Pooping when you're high is like waving goodbye to your best friend in slow motion.

We need to do our taxes, that would help.

Don't we have another month?
Life gets in the way.
He says "Geek Poet!
Leave the politics alone
Stick to Pop culture"

Cousin.
Politics ARE Pop culture.
don't you see?

in a world where businesses
buy natural disaster insurance
In fear of presidential tweets
McDonald's burger vending machines
You think this isn't dystopia?

We play games to escape.
where can we go
when the "real world"
is just as scary
upside down?

Tell me, Cousin.
Where do you write your poetry?
is it safe?

Do you surround yourself with muses?
back turned to a naked woman?
is there whiskey on the bar,
A journal,
your favorite pen?
Your cell phone,
clentching in the public restroom?

because no matter where you are.
that sanctuary
is a ******* pillow fort
compared to the Fort Knox
of an artists imagination

politics ARE pop culture
China is throwing unfathomable
amounts of money into Propaganda
targeting millennials though memes.
Fish don't see water, remember?

You are telling me
I can't write about politics.
There are Americans
who have never voted,
Radical left and right facebook profiles
protecting and attacking A Racist,
selfish, blemish on our history.
you wonder why we are scared, Cousin?

You want to know why I am so loud?

I watch Men step alligator shoe
out of Boston limousines
Slicked back hair straight
from wolf of wallstreet
belligerent screaming
"I do what I Waaaaaaant!"
"She does what she waaaaaaaaaaaaants!"
"We do what we waaaaant!"

This is the world
we're escaping from.
Excuse me if I break
from the zombie jokes
The vampire romances
Focus on the dead bodies
in our own city, Cousin.

Our demons are real now.

dystopian literature
called for the 2017 election
as far back as the 1930s'

Senator Buzz Windrip
from "It can't happen here"
by Sinclair Lewis
makes promises
to "return America to a better time".
back in 1935

buying validity for his ideas
in airtime on the radio,
tarring those who disagree,
as tools of mother russia,

dismissing woman,
as silly socialists.
naming the press
"a lot of irresponsible wind bags."

In the book "Parable of the talents",
Octavia butler Predicts a "Pox" In 2015
Wiping most of the population.
President Andrew Steele Jarret
promising to return the country
to an "Older Simpler time".
She wrote this book in 1998

Want to learn how to defeat Trump?
Read "Our Twisted Hero,"
by Yi Munyol

Read "In the Heart of the Valley of Love, "
by Cynthia Kadohata

All of these Dystopian fantasies
Prepare the Geeks
to rise up and fight.
Pop culture is the only thing saving us
Knowledge is the only thing saving us
Standing up,
Making art,
Being loud
is the only thing saving us
from the red button
in the orange hands
of the man who NEVER Had
the best words,

Because we do.

Repeat After me:

We The Artists
The Geeks who shall inherit
Swear to protect our words.
We will not bow,
bend,
or break.
Ink is the blood of prophets
The voice is a weapon

Excuse me if I fight
For education over distractraction.
Forgive me for preaching
Art as our gospel.

you can't Incite Revolution
by throwing dice at ghosts.

I am sick of being tall
because my friends
are too busy crawling
I'm putting all my stat points into
inspire

Let me incite placebo healing
for a small fraction
of the tortured
anxiety pretzels I walk along
each day.

I will spit
on anxiety paper-cuts
from this paperback of bigotry
in our future history
labeling myself neosporin prayin'
God,
PLEASE
let me be charismatic enough.
Anna Starr Mar 2017
this is our shiny bubble.
we float around with no care,
its reflective surface
shielding us from the outside world.

you stare at me with rainbow eyes.
full of possibility, full of hope.
no longer do they run away
at the slightest sign of me.

instead they press on;
recklessly moving forward,
20 kilometers per hour on curves.
i keep the budding fear to myself.

we're working so hard to stay afloat.
oh, how i dread
the day
we


*pop
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