#gwenstefani - Hello Poetry

Dear Gwen Stefani Circa 2006, The first music I chose to like that wasn’t just my mom’s tuning of the radio was Your solo CD, the first and best of two, which I made sure to get on my twelfth birthday, after I made sure to get my first kiss. We were not rookie sixth graders anymore, In soggy bathing suits teeming with pubescence, So I publicized my plans to plant one on Yeorgios Mavromatis, the new seventh grade boyfriend, The first boy to buy me jewelry I would not like, The first boy I used to make myself infamous. Our hallway bottlenecked with twelve year olds, Alone we sat on the bed, legs dangling above The stained beige carpet. The kiss was damp and boring. But the crowd that pressed at the door was an ****** Surged voices told me my dad was walking up the stairs, I arched around to throw the boyfriend in the closet, My father caught me, and I wore the walk through them Like your scarlet lipstick. The album of My first kiss was not passion, but gossip. I’ve seen you in red lipstick, bindis, and blue hair, A pink wedding dress, and a Platinum Blonde Life. I knew you were making art meant to publicize. The songs and the clothes and the Harajuku Girls, The boys and the clothes and the Children’s Theatre, The day I made a scene was the day I knew. Catholic guilt and couture gilt and creative goals Took two West Coast girls, only twenty three years apart And turned them into people you paid attention to.

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May 15, 2014

May 15, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC

molly-smithson-callahan

L.A.M.B Gwen Stefani Fan Letter

Dear Gwen Stefani Circa 2006, The first music I chose to like that wasn’t just my mom’s tuning of the radio was Your solo CD, the first and best of two, which I made sure to get on my twelfth birthday, after I made sure to get my first kiss. We were not rookie sixth graders anymore, In soggy bathing suits teeming with pubescence, So I publicized my plans to plant one on Yeorgios Mavromatis, the new seventh grade boyfriend, The first boy to buy me jewelry I would not like, The first boy I used to make myself infamous. Our hallway bottlenecked with twelve year olds, Alone we sat on the bed, legs dangling above The stained beige carpet. The kiss was damp and boring. But the crowd that pressed at the door was an ****** Surged voices told me my dad was walking up the stairs, I arched around to throw the boyfriend in the closet, My father caught me, and I wore the walk through them Like your scarlet lipstick. The album of My first kiss was not passion, but gossip. I’ve seen you in red lipstick, bindis, and blue hair, A pink wedding dress, and a Platinum Blonde Life. I knew you were making art meant to publicize. The songs and the clothes and the Harajuku Girls, The boys and the clothes and the Children’s Theatre, The day I made a scene was the day I knew. Catholic guilt and couture gilt and creative goals Took two West Coast girls, only twenty three years apart And turned them into people you paid attention to.

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Tell the ******* truth, Gwen Stefani, bleach blonde vamp. Questions stack up in the recesses of my mind, A renovation’s trash pile of drywall dust. You changed me, but there are things to clean up. Did you just take a break to remake your image For swarms of chubby white suburban pre-teens Swarming in packs at the middle school dance? Are those the only bees you could catch in your hive? How did you meld and mold the Harajuku girls To fit in the camera’s crosshairs or to walk the thin line of a New York fashion week runway? I must admit I still have my bottle of L.A.M.B. Was the woman who screeched she was Just a Girl Just floundering for fame? Does this happen to Every mid-level artist? Will my inkwell turn To the blood of an easy fan base too? I wanted you to be my mother, but you picked my platinum model sister as your favorite. But will I still become you, even though I know You’re false? Your press coverage can’t reveal the future. Black tar lies spew from US magazine covers Eyes dark, I gobble them up in violent shudders.

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May 15, 2014

May 15, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC

molly-smithson-callahan

The Flagged Fan Letter to Gwen Stefani

Tell the ******* truth, Gwen Stefani, bleach blonde vamp. Questions stack up in the recesses of my mind, A renovation’s trash pile of drywall dust. You changed me, but there are things to clean up. Did you just take a break to remake your image For swarms of chubby white suburban pre-teens Swarming in packs at the middle school dance? Are those the only bees you could catch in your hive? How did you meld and mold the Harajuku girls To fit in the camera’s crosshairs or to walk the thin line of a New York fashion week runway? I must admit I still have my bottle of L.A.M.B. Was the woman who screeched she was Just a Girl Just floundering for fame? Does this happen to Every mid-level artist? Will my inkwell turn To the blood of an easy fan base too? I wanted you to be my mother, but you picked my platinum model sister as your favorite. But will I still become you, even though I know You’re false? Your press coverage can’t reveal the future. Black tar lies spew from US magazine covers Eyes dark, I gobble them up in violent shudders.

22

political **** i am a business please refer to classic kendall photogs of past declare war politics malorca lighting was refreshing on kylie, thanks you got her hair open part ways and try it on you then there is the dirt abandon shot the faux grease words and other repose reposing of frame these missing dictionary values and things help i dont know how i am not a soldier i am military i do millitary you dont find ways to save us with your free speech debate and challenge the oppositional sentences is sewing to speak as i am able the voting of your booths would exist everyday allowing us to come home thats general assembly of world peace dis arm the powers of the press the voice missing is the losing song gwenstefani, never needed you either

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Apr 21, 2025

Apr 21, 2025 at 7:06 PM UTC

kevin-8

snafu

political **** i am a business please refer to classic kendall photogs of past declare war politics malorca lighting was refreshing on kylie, thanks you got her hair open part ways and try it on you then there is the dirt abandon shot the faux grease words and other repose reposing of frame these missing dictionary values and things help i dont know how i am not a soldier i am military i do millitary you dont find ways to save us with your free speech debate and challenge the oppositional sentences is sewing to speak as i am able the voting of your booths would exist everyday allowing us to come home thats general assembly of world peace dis arm the powers of the press the voice missing is the losing song gwenstefani, never needed you either

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Girl verb tangles Angled losing stencil Remorse lithograph in hand Ash charcoals bloat my male veils Pietro Testa cleave of poem forgets in In abundant clay Lay life and lift cleave down Brush pollens depth in losing me Zoe city sculpts a veranda Eva we leave Lady Sades confrontation with him While Aphrodite loses Paris this is the song with Taylor momsensloane I wrote EVALUATION OF YOUR VISIT TO THE LOUVRE MUSEUM This questionnaire is now closed. Thank you for your participation Ossians ledge Torn Idiom Edict in pen Oversive loss remain in twine EVALUATION OF YOUR VISIT TO THE LOUVRE MUSEUM This questionnaire is now closed. Thank you for your participation No more I love yous The language leaves your eyes speak Their concerns with the homekey buildings was the drug fumes in the walls So they destroyed money and killed 4000 angelinos I'm the journalist boy in ironic

0

Aug 7, 2025

Aug 7, 2025 at 3:43 PM UTC

kevin-8

Another's sight of tables

Girl verb tangles Angled losing stencil Remorse lithograph in hand Ash charcoals bloat my male veils Pietro Testa cleave of poem forgets in In abundant clay Lay life and lift cleave down Brush pollens depth in losing me Zoe city sculpts a veranda Eva we leave Lady Sades confrontation with him While Aphrodite loses Paris this is the song with Taylor momsensloane I wrote EVALUATION OF YOUR VISIT TO THE LOUVRE MUSEUM This questionnaire is now closed. Thank you for your participation Ossians ledge Torn Idiom Edict in pen Oversive loss remain in twine EVALUATION OF YOUR VISIT TO THE LOUVRE MUSEUM This questionnaire is now closed. Thank you for your participation No more I love yous The language leaves your eyes speak Their concerns with the homekey buildings was the drug fumes in the walls So they destroyed money and killed 4000 angelinos I'm the journalist boy in ironic

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