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Ramona Argo Sep 2014
There's an awkward thrill I feel
like wicked-wet rabies –
Oh. Ah. Oh.
To gaze over photos of the woman I created.
With my warped perception,
saturating and cropping everything into delicious
oblivion.
I am the knife as well as the ingredients
that sauteed her together in a camera flash.
She sits hot like heaven.
And I want to
stare at her picture all day until she comes to life.

The woman I created, I hang up like perfected rotisserie
and fall in love with her accidentally every day.
Looking into those precisely underlined
tiger-*** eyes of startling navy. Knowing their true dullness.
Hissing at the free-swinging curls
and the hours behind them. Loving the lie.
The flowy top and sleek trousers gliding down lovely as Niagara
over chaffing chub; all hidden. And thighs; unshaven.
And that topical smile everyone likes to see, waiting to plummet
into suicide like a kite hanging in one tight second.
Her image is my greatest
False accomplishment.

I hang my portrait up on a wall of the internet
for people of the world to migrate to
the photo exhibit, my little show-off room.
They make offers and toss compliments
with their “I like this. I like this." nonsense.


They don't know that the girl in the portrait, she
isn't organic. They seem not to notice
that she is something of a chemical flower.
Her face is my face, only with whiteout poison-paste
smoothed over twice.
And they want to
stare at her picture all day until she comes to life.

Gazing upon her believed-to-be beauty, as I hang my paintbrush,
she bites her body still as a painting,
bruised and needled
into perfect frame. She cries
like Jesus Christ, as she is stared at, but not seen.
I am the artist as well as the object.
And the woman in the portrait is
nothing,
but dot after dot of manipulated color.
And we want to
stare at her picture all day until she comes to life.
Morrison Leary Aug 2014
Swooping through the city streets,
the alleys, the corners, every crevice and crack.
Education and language never to be seen, dissipating with the past.
Ingrained in the brain, the common normality, placed on the famous track.
Morality has diminished, human beings are finished.
No curative for this disease,
a disgusting devious deceit  
Two dozen selfies left behind,  
just you, old and decrepit
all your doing,
your design,  
a silly lie.  
A ***** disguise.
Alone with a wasted life.
Selfies,
I can smell the desperation,
from here.
odors  of worry;
rippling anxities of uncertainity.
two dimensional,
instantaneous impressions,
pixelated presentations,
and
Teenage frustrations.

up tilted camera.
held against the light,
Illuminating eyes ,
and eradicating spots.
that looks like a good one.
Vicarious representation;
of how good
one could look,
fallible and hopeful.

big bosomed dame
showcasing blessed cleavage,
pulsating the adolescent
bulges.
delivered to
metal passenger,
thereafter shown
among peers.
networked to unknown.
Friends who'd never
met eye,
or
touched skin,
or
even spoke.  

self conscious
cropping of images.
fat and fearful.
wasted hours,
dying for love.
False dream of
captivating the messes with her selfie.

The very ugliness
of impressions.
Oh, how shallow we've became.
The denial
of the impact of aesthetics.
laughable,
torrents of judgement
Skinny,
fat,
ugly,
behold their desperate eyes behind the selfie.
Glance down on the selfie with objectiveness ,and open yourself to the thought process of each individual, on each selfie they take. All the billions of flaws, among all the billions of people; with each picture we take, the heart pulsates at possible notifications. The child like glee we feel when we think we look good, The somber sadness that peers over us when we feel we look bad.
Asunder Jun 2014
Oh no, I didn'tstagram
Don't want to share my selfies
Don't want you to know what I ate last night
Or what I did on Roofies

I twitter at your followers
And no, I won't "Follow you back"
The only people I'll re-tweet, my dear
Have all the things you lack

Won't go in One Direction
So hate on me, make a fuss
Don't think they'll oust the Beatles
Just because Harry does

Oh, what's a SnapChat?
Don't think I have that
Oh wait a minute, I don't care
Cos that app's neither here nor there

Don't think I'll find an online mister
Or reply to a "How about we.."?
Yes, I'm cyber challenged
So said my little sister

Everyone's a super model
But I mistrust Facebook photos
You probably photo-shopped your flaws
Or whitened your teeth with risottos

#nofilter equals #somanyfilters
Enough with all the fake
Because in this unreal world
This is more than I can take

So, take a step back
Post a candid shot
Don't hang around for them likes
Show them what you've really got

Make it stop.

— The End —