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KB May 2014
We are born free people, yet there are always restrictions.
We choose if we want to break them, whether with facts or through fiction.
Whether on walls using diction,
Or any crawl through confliction.
And no amount of chains and barriers
Will restrain us, no contradiction.
We understand we’re not on ice,
That there’s always going to be friction.
As expressers, fighters, artists, world changers
It comes from an Italian word, meaning scratch.
Look at it again and a whole new world
Has hatched.
The term graffiti, referred to the inscriptions, figure drawings, and such, found on the walls of ancient graves or ruins, as in the Catacombs of Rome or at Pompeii. Use of the word has evolved to include any graphics applied to surfaces in a manner that constitutes vandalism.
75% of people think its vandalism.
Toronto spends one million a year on graffiti removal.
When artists get back in the game, they haven’t given their approval.
Why don’t you use that money to feed the thousands of poor in society?
Instead of worrying about the art that the citizens need to see.

I never got A’s in elementary school art.
Getting marked on art still sounds like you need to be smart.
But graffiti doesn’t have to mean anything,
Not every letter is a symbol.
There are complications too but it can also be simple.
Almost every kind that I saw on the streets
Took a soft place in my heart, eventually turned concrete.
Let me reel back to grade 10 when I actually took art courses
In the media arts classroom I was taught people as my sources
Banksy, JR, Sofles, Katsu, Kidult, Shepard Fairey.
After my first graffiti assignment I understood clearly
What would happen if you brought a spray paint can near me.
The reason for graffiti is a simple one,
Not always about rebelling, or having fun.
Every artist craves to paint in his or her own way.
And all of us have messages that need to be portrayed.
Like, I was here, I’m alive, let me leave my mark.
This city is mine too, and I want to give it my spark
I belong, I have a voice, and I crave to make a change
These walls are too voiceless when it comes to the speaking range
My love for social justice brings in political ties
Through graffiti one can tell what country thrives with lies
It gives any surface a story, makes it come alive.
Change the system if you strive, until justice is revived.
To try to help the oppressed,
The shapes and lines were mine,
But they’re the ones on the line,
And to sit and do nothing would be an even bigger crime.
I even changed my initials to KKB
The B is for Banksy, its everywhere you see me.
My email has a Banksy, my Twitter did too.
Graffiti is my life, though you already knew.
Humanity is lost within the walls that we made
Graffiti brought it back to me,
And like the ocean did I wade.
Inside the political aspect that structures our brains
And the society that gives us money to drain
All the false information and the things we don’t need
Gives me hope to find these messages written on the streets
Sometimes freedom of speech isn’t so free at all.
But if Facebook deletes posts, documentaries have biased calls,
There’s another way of speaking, even if we fall,
I love how it’s not typical; no tag is the same.
Its breathing life on the walls, not stuck in a frame.
It stands out.
Stands outside of a museum where you always have to pay.
To see something that may or may not catch your attention right away.
That makes your head sway,
Give you some kind of reaction, moves you to action.
Not something you have to think hard about,
There’s little analysis needed, a splash merrily seeded.
Its urgent, its in the moment, for realization.
Once the message has been received, it’s an artist’s confirmation.
I integrated graffiti as a part of my every day life, including school
Drew it in math projects, French presentations, writer’s craft essays, it was my arts night welcome sign tool.
I will carry this with me through university
And it’ll take me further in the arts industry.
When you walk by graffiti in the street, do you ever take the time to notice it? Like, really notice it? Do you ever think about the person behind the spray paint can? Writers are not only being underappreciated for their talents, but they’re being harassed, looked down on, all for no reason. Do you know any of their stories? Do you know what thoughts and feelings sprayed out of the can when the paint hit the wall? Do you ever think about the history behind the art? To breakdown the styles of graffiti, here’s a simple introduction. There are tags, the simplest forms of graffiti. A signature. There are stencils. There are stickers, also known as slaps. Wildstyles are also used, and they’re more intricate, more colourful, and harder to read. It’s a particular style of writing developed in New York City. A piece is one that takes time an effort, and requires more than three colours. A blockbuster is used to cover the most space in the least amount of time. And a heaven is a piece that’s put in a hard to reach area, like the tops of tall buildings or on freeway signs. There’s the style bubble, old school, brush, abstract, bombings, whole car, ignorant, landscape, realistic, billboard, cartoon and sharp as well.
A sense of tranquility seeps into my veins every time my marker hits the paper, full of energy, full of hope. Starting graffiti was a way to combine my passion for speaking out against oppression and my love for the arts. Even though my work is not displayed on the streets, it has the same style, and it may not have the same effect but it counts as an escape for me. It doesn’t make me a graffiti artist, and some would even argue that doing canvas work kills the purpose of graffiti but I always want my work to make an impact on people no matter which way I do it. It’s something I love to do, and anyone can take that any way they desire. There are stereotypes that I’ve had to battle, but in the end, I know my true intentions. I don’t need to make a name for myself. I don’t need to create a reputation for myself either. True, this is not real graffiti, but that’s as far as I choose to take my fascination. I do it because of the escape it provides for me, the sense of freedom, and the sense of power in my markers.
These are the little movements of writers, all of us trying to get at revolution. Art is not supposed to be limited in frames. That’s why to me, the streets are some of the biggest forms of freedom – do as much as you like, however you like, all free. The poor and rich all have to see it. No one can avoid the message. It is not only artistic expression; it’s a protest. A scream of anger and emotion aimed towards public spaces. Graffiti artists did not start the war, they just respond to defend our vision of what graffiti and society should be: free. A battle against commercialism and a way of saying ‘no’ to materialism and society’s over consumption.  To the government, you are not the only ones who own these cities. What about the rest of us that do not exist until we leave a mark of our own? This is a game of action and reaction, if you will.
Taking care of our society is our obligation. That means changing anything harmful to us with every mean possible. Graffiti seems to offend a majority of society but if we took the time to appreciate and understand, a lot of good can be done if we turned the negatives into positives. So if we aimed for change and acted on it, especially with art, we’d be much less stressed. More often, we’d just remember, to stay blessed.
an assignment for a writers class. i made a video, but this is the word version (:
BS hunter Dec 2013
I can't make this up he loves poem thief check his profile activities
DM  
personal hell    1964 -  
Unimportant.

OK DM YOU LIED *******!
COPY PASTING YOUR WORDS AND WHAT YOU WROTE TO THE ONE WHO STOLE MY POEMS.

DM  
personal hell    1964 -  
Unimportant.

COMMENTS IN POEM YESTERDAY -

heads up
Someone has been logging in under different peoples names and posting a lot of trash. They've even been stealing other peoples work and twisting it and claiming it as their own. They've even sent comments under my name that I didn't make. Be careful.


YOUR COMMENTS TO ******* COMPUTER P's DELETED PROFILE BUT POEMS ARE STILL THERE. THE ONE WHO STOLE MY POEMS. TOOK THESE  FROM YOUR "ACTIVITY" THREAD. YOU CAN'T HIDE WHAT YOU DO ON THIS SITE YOU LYING *******.

PROVING HE'S IN LOVE WITH POEM THIEF *****. HIS WORDS NOT MINE.

DM›Untitled by ---  3 days ago
You send sweet sweetyness!

DM›Untitled by ---  3 days ago
Amazing still! You have an edge about you. Thankless more often than not.

DM›Untitled by ---  3 days ago
Sorry. Just wanted to get in your pants. You have pants right?

DM›Untitled by ---  3 days ago
Stranded *****! Working at Game-stop ***** even more. You have a real gift! Your words are amazing but disclose little in context. A portrait of you is already displayed. Bring your horizon as the sun sets and the moon arises. Awesome job dude!

DM›My new poem by ---  3 days ago
******* amazing! If my throat were as dry as yours, perhaps I could write as well! I'm living proof that arid stupidiciousness conceals rather than enlightens. My meager attempts seem weak and impotent. Your words hover above me and like clouded sky give and offer truest meaning. I love you...hello!

DM›Untitled by ---  1 day ago
You seem to be having a wonderful time here! Congrats to you! That's what its all about! Free-form poetry and prose.

DM›My new poem by ---  1 day ago
Scratch where it itches my friend. Sometimes until it bleeds.

DM›Untitled by ---  1 day ago
And she breathed, and you took a breathe at the same time, you asked yourself why? Then you realized that it was your own expectation that followed you here, she's just a girl. Just as alone and frightened as you. She's only there coz she hungry. You're only there to feed her.

DM›Untitled by ---  1 day ago
Being ' Mr right' and becoming 'Mr right' are always separate.

DM›Untitled by ---  1 day ago
Falling down doesn't mean falling easy. My God if it were so simple. Express and lose or hold and lose. Die on your feet or live on your knees.

DM ›Untitled by ---  1 day ago
Absolutely love this beautiful poem. Such intimate sadness here. Quite touching.

DM › lesson not learned by shaqila  Dec 5
Absolutely love this beautiful poem. Such intimate sadness here. Quite touching.

IF HE DIDN'T THINK ******* COMPUTER P AND SHAQILA ARE ONE IN SAME, WHY
WRITE ALL THESE ****** COMMENTS ON HER POEMS?
June Robinson Jun 2012
“*******” She writes
and deletes it
“I’m Alone” She writes
and deletes it.
The best thing about texting is the delay

It’s not that you don’t say what’s on your mind.  
It’s that you don’t say the FIRST thing on your mind.

I’m tired.

I’m tired, and I’m lonely

But most of all, I am a bad poet.
vircapio gale Jun 2012
love-energy swinging toward bitter blows:
a father’s pride becomes a son’s,
he becoming bitter becoming hatred
in the midst of love abused,
a civil fight for freedom failing in the eyes of youth:
these minds of ours turn wildly—
change to the beat of unknown drums
and death knocks us up
pregnant with a new generation of hate,
of goals to love: the obliteration of hate’s mother,
but question on, worship your mind,
build a shrine of doubt and find
darkness emerging as a deeper shade of black
knowledge? knowledge?
myths laid upon us through the perspectival dimming of language
no one’s fault? societal pressures
no cause for blame? survival instincts
no source of evil? history has a gun to their head. . . .
no use for these words? meaningless.
dialogue, yes, for the birds,
the carrion of hope
once the breeding stops
and lets the precious journey start:
down the cesspool of quasi-oblivion,
where we’re all a minority of one,
grasping for meaning in an abyssm of phantasmal foundations.
words, words, the excuse of words;
when father’s left no ground to walk on,
the son sits there digging
ditches for the death of systems
holes in the fabric mother wore,
tears in the existence we thought we knew.

what is this about? question marks
swerving away from sour truth
bleeds the nonsense through the flesh of what we love
and dying, dying, hate becomes a source of love,
guilt projects a softened heart
kneeling down now
outside, but wanting in.
affirmed, dejected.

[OR
are they swerving away from faith
simply a defense against the actions to take
ontic procratstinator! hear me now!
safety is the goal behind every measure
seek danger and you run the dangers of comfort,
seek comfort, and delusion becomes your handmaid.]

for knowledge of past dogma is dogma too
and the heart pumps it anyway;
for existence is. O heart, your sutra
flows nimbly on into eternity,
but you take this life and live it now,
the rhythm born of a mystery,
sacred to the foolish,
sarkin to the wise—
and the dancing wise man
birthing a new enigma
travels on into the depths of the ordinary
with a smile and a bow,
a hop-skip like Nietzschean
melodrama.

I can write it once for fun,
twice for accuracy,
thrice for fame and ten more for shame.
Do you want to know what it’s about
or do you want to figure it out?
the game of pride makes fresh
the fish of mental seas;
but truth is less cozy;
dagger in your existential eye.

no conclusions to be embraced without the whim of faith?
no art show game gripe to win but for the game of taste?

this bout goes on, this Bout goes on! oh how I wish my mind was lacking!
but no! the sacrifice, but the sacrifice,
pigs of Aristotle knew no quarrell,
no such quarrell.

when does such a poem become a forced effort?  when will I stop questioning myself?
where is this urge to destroy originate?
what ******* language am I speaking in when I think?
what and why,
who the but questions, questions
falling spiking holes in teh floor of contentment
or is it laziness: should I tak emy e pick now or wa itf ort he rig htto **** newith mystic alllllllllllll certainty from be yo ndt he fen ceof lan gua ge.

why go back? why try?
the difference between communication and self-indulgent writing is the effort to conform to the extent necessary for the sharingof truth... and so nobility demands conformity, however long it takes and however wonderful it may be in the mean time to simply spill my fingers across the trypesu ritre lia shjkk e a A b B i IG load o f ***... as if the hiddenness of deconstucted language masked my immaturity as a poet, as a person, as a thinker, as a wallower in shame.  as a Man. as a *** machine. as a weak creature. as a creature of potentially great accomplishments but small ***** at the present, as a person hiding from the said for fear of having to live up to it, as one who doesn’t believe his words half the time, even noe, ever noer rht all suiooos  dhjhjh tuof rhty w arbif trya dfyoudng huddkkfkd fmdmf dfdlililhkjga wyeruipok smmm tuhtuth dgfhg dagdh f dhajkdf  fuduudjjd fh d hdhhd bit b not n tno totot t ototot  read read read read read read read read read reda dnrenadkf leadsd fhdus duig hgjhdf dh sdmf sialdihf duf dreioan ign udfin the dh diguicse of hjtkjh heioa never heros heilike hte  e9a 1 1 ih kj n h ogma doifj hedOLvever otitoto the  ososososririrroow ww dance waiting at the librasyer renckjh c concon con iejr a  goodo excucse to t constraint no nt rot th even dfhight hwith th d dear on the all ndklfn eh fh searching thioart worthless buthen I find htheihadf htis hivoih Valid dfkdljhf jhkajh yea it s i kjh Lavlls ishn Vadildld meaning ngon woven into nonesense nd fnidoijifj bJar in Tennessiossdnohf  a freww few deletes and the important words become clear however taxing on an hypothetical reader from the future in which I do hope to become g”reat” half-heartily,  though for show.  .  .and the experience of writing is revealed through the laziness, or tiredness, of a recent graduate trying to write something meaningful after a summer of passion and *** and drugs and resentment toward the family and the sad economic advice given him.
Lio Nov 2019
Most of us are familiar with
The escapism from pain.

For an easy and cheap solution
Or because of advices of the
Doctors, psychologs;
Most of us get a cheap piece of matter
Triggering the oscillation of dopamine,
Making most of us addicted to them
As well as being harmed
As the result of their side effects.

Even the teens intoxicate things
Causing these things.

Some of call this signalling matter
Nicotine or alcohol.
Others call drugs as well as
Medicines having great side effects on
Our psychology that means
Our minds, feelings and importantly
Our souls.

How these piece of matter
Deletes your pain?
Simply, by affecting your
Biologic structure.

This causes the cage of
Emotions and behaviours
Freezing your actions and thoughts
As well as mostly
The cage itself.

This stabilization of actions therefore,
Decreases the capability of
Varying the actions.

What you can do,
You are capable to do.
Capacity is the power.

Lesser power lesser creativity.
All in all
Nothing more than robotic step
You all do in all.

By lesser creativity,
What you do becomes
Completely addiction.
No good, no bad;
Only the robotic step
You all do.

So subject becomes object of
External distraction.
In the hellish world,
You are distracted to hell.

A piece of addictive matter
Ends with
Painful robotic suffering
Until you fade away.

But the music, music, music
Is the harmonious effective vibes of
Yourself.

This music can do anything,
Instead of freezing you only if an only.
This music can do anything,
By transforming the self by
Twisting you through making you
Its beautiful voice.

We classify the music
In account of its causes.
But material cause is not the music.
Instead, the elegance of meaning
As well as the shining effect
Is the music.

It is the music that will
Create the best in us!
Make the best of us!
Hold the best of us!

Than you may say,
I want music but this is poetry.

Than I say,
Poetry is the music of the words.

It is the music of life
Will the shining ray of creativity.
It is the music of life
Will the kingdom of heaven.

Its the nectar in form of music
Being the music of nectar,
Becoming the nectar of the music!

Music creating music
In seem of poem.
Catch it, follow it!
Better than any drugs.

Music creating music
In seem of poem.
Say it! Sing it!
Better than anything!

It is the best, you desire!
We call it, you are welllllllllll...
Please chevk up this poem. You can find new ideas about music and drug problem.
Jaymisun Kearney Nov 2013
. . .

Late at night
In what some might call the witching hour
Close your eyes
Let waters fall lightly on your neck
Under heat
May you feel
What screams you think are screamed dissipate
Feel, only
Hear no words
No words will trespass the line
Separating you and I
So two hands will have to do
Phantoms of time lost touch you
Do they remind you

Of the one, most haunting?
No ill will, no poison
Deletes love
Faith, I ask of you -- I manage whispers
Through static
Open your eyes

Tomorrow
While running around your day to day
May you find
The forever in love gone that's saved
As your fear
Palpitates
Warm memories flood through Winter's grave
Breaking peace
Into your war
Close faithfully forlorn eyes
Their dark delivers our tide
To our hidden coast again
Mute words from the black ocean
Written in the sand

Of the one, most haunting?
No ill will, no poison
Deletes love
Faith, I ask of you -- I manage whispers
Through static
Open your eyes

Can you
Keep the void connected and still move?

. . .
anastasiad Jan 2017
Within the 1st the main content, most people had taken a review of software programs intended for regaining details through common hard disk drives. During this subsequent part of the string "When Software program Might Help" wel discuss flash-based (solid-state) storage area, reasoning storage methods and online storage solutions.

Solid-State Drives (Solid state drive)
Solid-state pushes are sometimes included in location of regular drives. Solid state drive hard disks give smaller sized capacities however better quickness, specifically when unique entry pace is involved. Without moving components, SSD drives tend to be powerful automatically. They could tolerate better bumps, causing them to be in particular best for lightweight applications. One more laptop-friendly feature can be a much lower electric power use as compared to magnets harddrives.

SSD moves do come making use of their discuss with challenges which affects loss of data files retrieval conditions. These complaints tend to be highly dependent on the methods Solid state drive drives track record information and facts. Using Solid state drive pushes, retrieving data deleted a few moments previously is a lot from your granted. Same is true of methodically arranged devices; on the other hand surprisingly, damaged Solid state drive could possibly be restored just as well as regular hard disks. Nevertheless make intricate.

The key reason why Retrieving Deleted Information from Solid state drive Devices Might not Do the job

Many quite new SSD drives implement a unique group of treatments letting them optimise their particular creating overall performance. These kind of methods contain track record waste series along with Cut.

Why is it that SSD hard disks need to have garbage choices and magnetic pushes dress in? Since pen potato chips have much quicker apparent produces when compared to erase-then-write moments. Put simply, pen tissue that contain information and facts should be removed (emptied) prior to completely new details can be coded in, which eliminate procedure is quite slow-moving in comparison with plain generate procedure. So that you can increase the speed of a contributes articles, solid-state hard drives clear off expensive solar cells populated with wiped facts within history. In the event the program has to write nearly anything to the hard disk drive, the particular write business in that case features plenty of empty skin cells to try and do easily.

How exactly does a disk realize a certain field becomes available? The operating-system informs the particular get through the Reduce receive. The Cut demand is issued each time the device deletes written documents or perhaps formats some sort of level. The get will include launched industries in to the junk variety queue, clearing off their own at ease with zeroes slowly and gradually nonetheless certainly.

Recall exactly why recovery will work? House windows per se won't wash or perhaps eliminate this content of the report remaining taken out, but scars it's disk space available. Well, that isn't the case using SSD devices anymore: SSD devices may clean out there computer groups in just a few minutes after having a submit will be deleted.

Whenever Solid state drive Is usually Reclaimed

Solid state drive retrieval can always do the job in the event the Cut get hasn't been released. This can be true or no 1 (or more) on the adhering to does work:

Previous kind of Windows. Home windows types previous to Vis would not assist TRIM, consequently Solid state drive work pretty much like permanent magnetic hard disk drives, and could be recoverable.

Corrupted info. In the the event of damaged files, harmed report procedure and other alike items, this Reduce order is just not released, plus the data continue being recoverable.

Outside SSD generate. SSD drives hooked up using a USB, FireWire or maybe Ethernet interface tend not to offer the Reduce get, and could be recoverable together with recover file program.

RAID arrays. Toned is just not recognized around RAID layouts.

Report system rather than NTFS. Presently, House windows just can handle Reduce about NTFS-formatted Solid state drive moves. In case your Solid state drive commute utilizes a distinctive submit technique, this Reduce control is not really issued, as well as commute is still recoverable.

Tools to get Regaining Data from Solid state drive Devices

So that you can heal information out of the Solid state drive travel, you need to use data recovery applications for instance Hetman Uneraser, Hetman Partition Retrieval, or Hetman Photography Healing depending on your correct needs. Consider Hetman Uneraser in case youe dealing with a normal commute who has definitely not also been formatted or maybe repartitioned. When you do formatting or repartition ones SSD drive, or if you present an unavailable product along with broken document procedure, make use of Hetman Partition Recovery.

Clouds Hard drive and on the internet Products and services
Foriegn storage space systems are becoming more popular for all forms of customers. Online back-ups, online photograph compact disks (Reddit, Picasa), on-line file sharing and on the internet report running (Yahoo Docs) are in the location.

These are good because "Desktop", "Mobile phone" as well as "My Documents" copies, great as well not required safe-keeping, and absolutely irreplaceable pertaining to sharing facts and also interacting. Having said that, reasoning safe-keeping devices will not be accurately good since your primary storage space. Put simply, in order to substitute an enormous hard disk drive with the The amazon online marketplace fog up storage space bill ?go on a re-evaluation.

Given, clouds storage solutions will not be prone (or perhaps a lesser amount of inclined when compared with single-hard-drive methods) to help hardware defects and malware strikes. They can be fairly unnecessary and still have exceptional self-backup establishments. Important computer data might be secure at this time there?for quite a while.

Reliant entirely upon some sort of cloud-based storing signifies letting go of comprehensive treating details. Your data is going to be controlled by somebody else plans (that may adjust with no warning). The number of storage space obtainable may be confined, whilst plans making it possible for larger than only one hard disk worthy of storage area cost you actually above the money necessary for a similarly scaled hard drive, per 30 days.

Last but not least, when you erase written documents, possibly the whole accounts is actually compromised plus cleaned by way of nuller, there is absolutely no solution. No recovery resource can easily reestablish removed info on the fog up. This is usually a classical scenario wherever data retrieval instruments usually do not assistance.

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A loving father and husband
To provide for your family
Heading to office
When birds greet
Dawn with chorus
Hark, hark and hark
Back home, sitting
Over a computer till
It gets pitch dark
Bearing a workload
That could cause
ED if not a heart attack,
You make sure luxuries
Your wife and
Off springs never lack,
To indirectly ram home
Your love for
Your better half
As a broad day light
Is stark.

But when your marriage
Lost its ****** spark
Her resolution shattered
She sought love
Behind your back.

You failed to sensitize
Her about her beauty
Your number one duty,
Also sometimes making
A paradigm shift
You were not
A bit naughty.
Out of line from a
Henpecked husband,
You failed to defamiliarize
That do not you realize?

You should have made her
Feel an object of desire
That was what could have
Rekindled the flame
And the fire.

When you make
Love to her
Think not what
Makes you buckle
Under depression
Such as lack of promotion,
Ego-rocking feelings
Must not distract
Your attention.

You should ever try
To scale ****** new height
Every night.

Workaholic, unless
You jog, jog and jog
When you go to bed
For her you will be
No better than a log.

To the dump yard
She could throw you
A broken toy
Unless you afford her
A joy
Cuckolded by a man
On the wrong side of a boy.

With someone else
When a woman gets into bed
She deletes you
Out of her soul, heart and head
That is why,
As her husband, she denied
You a go ahead!

Mindful of this fact
It is not too late
To fix a date
Stop your
Fate to lament!
(A piece of advice from a cougar to a cuckold husband, contemplating/also facing a divorce)
Michael DeVoe Jan 2011
Silence is the seconds after she sets her phone down and before he texts her back
She keeps it on vibrate so it doesn't wake me
That's pretty polite of her
I think it's cute she thinks I could fall asleep

My teeth tingle the good *** tingle when my head board shivers
Maybe memories
Maybe foreshadowing

She has different sighs
Ones for when she's sad, angry, overwhelmed
His texts and our hugs have the same sigh
That's how I know she still loves me

She says his name in bed
We both pretend it didn't happen
It's better that way
I keep her warm for him
She keeps me...
She keeps me

I don't go through her phone and read her text messages
She deletes them
That's polite of her
I don't ask about him
It's only polite of me
There's nothing more to be said
I get the good *** tingle when her phone vibrates
Not when it beeps though
Because if it beeps it's just her sister
And I don't want *** with her sister

She tells me I know things about her no one else knows
It's cute she thinks no one else knows

Can you count?
I can count
1 text 2 text 3 text
It's just like sheep
If the sheep were stealing your ****

She's not my ****
Just wanted to make that clear
She's his ****
I just stay here

I like it when she pretends he doesn't exist
It's polite of her
He exists
They say goodnight around three
When she turns her phone volume back up
I whisper good night
She pretends I don't whisper
I just hope if I have the last word she'll dream about me too

On occasion he turns her on
That's when we have the best ***
She keeps her eyes closed so she can see him
I close my eyes too
I like to imagine her eyes are open

Sometimes they fight
About me
We don't fight about him
She appreciates that I can hear it in her sighs

Sometimes his texts get frustrated sighs
Sometimes I get those too
Usually when I try and rest my hand on hers during silence
She doesn't like that
She likes him
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
Holly Salvatore Jul 2013
Is driving home from his part-time job
Answering IT phones for some college
And he flips a lady off when she pulls out in front of him
And he thinks "I shouldn't have to deal with human ****."
And he thinks "When I get home,
I'm gonna smoke a bowl."

There's another message from his ex-girlfriend
On the answering machine
"James, why haven't you been fighting crime?
Why haven't you been saving citizens?
Why haven't I seen you flying through the skies
in your red tights and mask? James, remember
When you saved my life? Remember
When you saved the whole city? Why
Did you stop caring? You've been given all these gifts
And you sit around drinking, thinking
'I'll let someone else get this one,' but who else
Can leap tall buildings and lift burning schoolbuses
Off of screaming children? And who else out there
Has x-ray eyes, but a gentle touch? You're a hero
And you need to act like one. You're an *******,
But a super one."

BEEP

"Thank God," he thinks
Deletes it
Pulls a six pack out of the fridge
His broad shoulders sink into the couch
On the news
Someone's been shot
Someone's been robbed
He turns it off
"Not my problem." He says
Finality in his voice
Finishing a bottle

"Passion is for the weak
Caring gives me the creeps"
In the distance his sonic hearing picks out a scream
His radioactive muscles tense
Ready to spring into action
The feeling of responsibility dissipates
Like it always does

"Not my problem." he says
Another beer is gone
Another message blinking on the machine
Her again.
Dumb broad.

If I'm invincible,
What is there to worry about?
If I'm invincible,
What is there to cling to?
If I'm invincible,
Why should I give a **** about mere mortals?

He calls his nemesis
"Let's go out later. Let's get wasted
And break things with our super strength."
He hits a cat on the way
Backs over to make sure it's dead
The night is a success already
Sorry James, hard as you might try, your apathy will always save you from leading anything but a solid boring life. You will never be a superhero when you can't stop acting like a child. Sorry, not sorry.
kiran goswami May 2020
I posted a picture on the internet today,
after handpicking the best of all.
While she is left with no choices,
so she walks on the roads that burn
carrying herself upon her feet that bleed.

I took my camera and checked up the lighting,
as I wanted the picture to look 'natural' and 'candid'.
A cameraman rushes to her to click a picture
as he is a magazine photographer searching for stories real.

I sweated and protested about the scorching heat
while I set up my camera.
She wipes the sweat off her father's forehead
on which the glabellar lines cease to exist,
while hers is carrying the roots and branches of it.

I held books in my hand to strike a pose
as my fingers laid in front,
whose nails I painted yellow for this summer.
She holds the handlebars of her bicycle she can no more hold or paddle,
her nails have painted themselves with the colour of mud.

I clicked too many pictures for me to count or recall.
Even after thousands, she remembered how many miles is home.


I captioned my picture
'No more lonely quarantine',
She hardly knows alphabets or words to even ask for help.

I swiped from filter to filter
selecting an 'aesthetic' one.
She drinks the pitch-black liquid,
they tell her is water,
without even demanding for 'cleaner' one.

I finally edited and made a perfect picture,
with my wide grin sealed with a gloss,
And the cameraman too asks for her to smile for once.
She with her deserted lips forms a curve that makes the cameraman frown.

He deletes the picture from his camera
as it would be disliked by all,
It got 1.9k likes,
The picture I posted on the internet today.
lkdl Feb 2014
Takes a picture of oneself,
And deletes it.
onlylovepoetry Mar 2018
cold turkey time
hid the remote in the linen closet

playing
alicia keys ‘fallin’ on repeat and
    she ain’t got no chance

keep on fallin’ and she can’t say anything
except répétez après moi s.v.p.

and repeat we do
baby I’m crazy
in the bed is paper and pen
when inspiration says breather time

two tongues tonguing intertwine like two two headed snakes,
spilling ink and sweaty ***** and the paper is filling up fast

sleep begging and oil offshore exploration calming explosions
love her *****  poetry

and
how she deletes every  “and” in every poem we ever writ
saying
“and if, you need an ‘and, ‘
the verse is weakly unclear”

we write in perfect clarity

cannot recall where the **** remote is hid

when she complains

i lover-whisper in each ear her,
turning her body over and over again,
in case I miss an ear,

"and and and and"

retaliation,
she sticks me with pen
"taps" the top of my head
with that yellow blue lined lady pad

saying repeat after me if you please en francais


"and and and onlylovepoetry"

sunday @ 5:13am sunday 'Sunday kind of love'
Elli Dec 2013
2:30 AM
How are you?
I miss you
I hope you're doing fine
I'm a lost cause without you
Darling, don't leave
I'm sorry
One more chance?
I love you


*deletes
Luna Casablanca Nov 2015
I'll be where I belong someday.
Purple sky, red and green lights,
And the California sun rising up when I
Need the light the most.
I go through another falling out every **** year.
No primary and no old people I can go to.
Too many mutual idiots who adopt the ones I love and kick me out of the picture.
I'll take the photo
But I'm not the one who deletes it.
My heart and brain are my memory card filled with all the drama-less days of these **** cliques.
I can only make myself move on but
I cannot make you never exist again.
I get we move on but I don't know why I'm picked last.
It's either new people or other's who pretend they know and accept the real me.
It's just never how it used to be.
That's why I'm going to be in California getting away
From New Englanders who know me now.
Just let me grow first.
I suggest
You do
The same.
Can't keep a friendship so I'm starting over when the time comes.
GvSparx Nov 2014
Likes the new girl in office
Adds her on Facebook,
she accepts.
Browses all her photos,
never comments.
Types in the chat box,
deletes.
Sees her with another guy,
disbelieves.
Another girl joins, the process repeats
Now that you have read it, please read the bold only. Voila! It still tells the complete story.
This is one of many true story #greypapers I post on Facebook. I am on a campaign where I write true stories of people in the form of poetry. I have described various funny, grave, gruesome, lovely emotions in these, you can read them at
https://www.facebook.com/inspiringlives
and do let me know your opinion of the same
Molly Pendleton Jul 2012
Those fortunate enough
To be living without
Anxiety; believe
It is like a disease

But in reality
It is a creature that
Thrives in environments
Which tickle the senses

A pair of noisy heels
Can drum up fear in me
That clutches to my ears
Which rash and mulish force

The itch of a shirt tag
Consumes my attention
Deletes my feeling any
Other touch but that pain

An acid taste of foul
Street side food I received
From a pushy hawk
Stirs more than nausea

Such sensations are
Unremarkable to
Those anxiety free
Cause they don’t live like me

Where such surroundings
Have a vice grip on the
Mentally unstable
They cause a pain unseen
The United States on many levels is a messy affair. Often this plays towards its strengths - a heterogeneous glob of skin colors, backgrounds, opinions, personalities, and characters over the past 240 years has helped shape a cultural, political and economic haphazard semi-benevolent, oft-belligerent empire not seen on this planet before its creation.

We would be idiotic to think that these past two centuries, and nearly a half, have been without some outstanding contradictions. We could pornagraphicly chart how glorious words from the Declaration of Independence have been ******, again and again, including “all men are created equal” and how people have the right to “throw off such Government[s], and to provide new Guards for their future security” when such governments do not serve the will of the people.

We could start with how a great portion of the founding fathers were slave holders, then we could move onto less touchy subjects like most were rich and all were white (and had penises). Sure, we could write that stuff off - you know - the times, the course of history, blah, blah, blah. And all that is true. America has had its Frederick Douglass, its Martin Luther King, its Sacagawea, and Chief what's-his-name, along with all those famous Latinos and Asians they teach us about in grade school we remember so well.

But then, we turn towards those other two hundred odd years where the United States’ culture and politics hung black men and women from trees like strange fruit or burned them alive atop hateful lumber, committed genocide against Native Americans and buffalos with guns and blankets, while also overtly and covertly murdered and overthrew leaders and regimes in Latin America, Asia and the Middle East for resources, power, and influence. Then there was that whole thing where we herded Japanese people into pig pens before we massacred somewhere around 200,000 of them on some island in the pacific with big bombs we had immigrants create for us. To be fair, they started it.

We could write that stuff off - you know - the times, the course of history, blah, blah, blah. And that’s true.

Lean in a bit more and you’ll smell a bit more sweaty *******. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps kinda stuff.  Just like how the current President started off with nothing but a multimillion dollar loan from his daddy to kick off his economic empire. Just like how anyone can succeed in America as long as you work hard, which is why minorities in this country control a majority of multinational corporations, hold a majority in both the Senate and House of Representatives and why every white kid in America grows up aspiring to be either Black or Latino because their parents say “it's for the best.” Just like how America has the best health care, that’s why America has the lowest infant mortality rate and the healthiest people who never ****** each other with 2nd Amendment guns or commit suicide after killing their families or classmates.

Are you writing this down? I am.

Perhaps we could turn to ourselves (I’ll play the overly judgmental overlord who doesn’t give a **** about your feelings or my own personal hypocrisy) ready? How about the shallow puddle of desire we hold in our hands that we mindlessly scroll through and tap and caress and coddle and cling to like an obsessed sociopath? That thing that connects us but deletes us from the here and now? That thing that traps us into a circle of impersonations of ourselves?

Hold your head just this way, smile just like that, clench the jaw just so, a little less cleavage, a little more flex and tuck, bribe the kid for a smile  and - SELFIE! I am a happy, successful, wealthy, witty, charming, sassy, badass ******* genius party hound, bound for success and glory and please like this post or photo or confession or rant or meaningless comment about my mundane life. I need to stay connected.

Let’s drop the phone. I’m still the overlording hypocrite. How about we talk about the polished mirror we strap to our heads by leather, stick, and string and leave dangling before our every step and twinkling eye? We ***** and moan about the drive to work, the long flight, the uppity moronic ******* at the office. On the other side of the mirror a drone strike just killed a mother’s son. Did you vote, do you care? We bemoan the ****** pay and mindless work we’re given in a corporate service driven economy lorded over by overpaid ******. Move the mirror and look in the distance, a dictator just mass murdered his own people. We wallow in self-pity, no one sees our potential, our worth. At the stoplight downtown, hold the gaze of your fellow American asking for a buck - what’s he worth? What’s yours and why?

Okay, how about this? We stroke the ***** and ***** of our own deflated morality by inflating the stupidity of others. Mr. Jones lost his job and slept with a woman not his wife - oh, my. Mrs. Jones chopped off his ****, how unladylike - oh, my. This might be where we avoid the mirror we’ve strapped to our heads by stick and string. I’d never do that, never done anything like it. He deserves what he got and she’s off to the psych ward for sure. Yet, we guzzle down the *** of lurid stories steeped in “other” people's faults. We’re all in the **** video now, and everyone’s acting *****.

Let’s not pretend anymore. Humanity is America and America is messy and often ugly. But there, in the chaos, gleams an oxymoronic hope to do better. To be better. I am as small as my mistakes and shortcomings but as towering as my dreams and ideals. We cannot change or erase our past stupidity, but we can be so much more tomorrow. I want to be an empire of hope, a mountain of kindness, a river of acceptance, a field of peace. A good father to my daughters, a loving partner to my wife. A man that lives.

Let's not write that future off as blah, blah, blah.
Thomas Newlove Feb 2011
I
The morning traffic settles down
When the smell of chips create a haze
By the arts block.
Squawking fills the passageways
And now a familiar face taps
Your weary back
While you are drowned by stomping feet
And despite the try your mind clots;
The name deletes
And you’re left thinking it is Scott,
While all this time his name is Pete.
He didn’t hear it through the stamps
And we sit lakeside by the lamps.

II
Morning: you arise from consciousness
And faint stale smells of beer
From the night on Dublin streets,
A night you won’t repeat, unless
The moon reclaims the lands.

And of course the Paddy’s day parades,
That, one naturally assumes.
Just thinks of all the hands
Raising pints by the spades
In a thousand bright green rooms.

III
You stretched your arms above your head
And yawned at a class you’ve never hated
You dozed, and watched the screen revealing
The thousand boring images
Of which World War II was constituted;
Their burning qualities weren’t appealing -
They stung until the world went black
But the light crept up between your shutters
And you heard the backgrounds snobbish tutters,
Despite meeting them on Grafton Street
Where you exchanged drunken demands.
You awoke and cringed as you were aware
Of the tuft sticking up about your hair,
But instead of a fix-trip, to save your feet,
You covered it with your hands.

IV
You stared up at the flawless skies
That fade behind the Newman block,
Or often watched insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock,
Or watched the fountain-spewing pipes,
And watched the swans watch life’s disguise
While you recalled wild fantasies,
Of walking down a college street
And opening your eyes to receive the world.

And now my eyes have been unfurled
And I feel like a god, a king
For I have seen an infinitely mental,
Infinitely wonderful thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
And treat the worlds like you treat the women
And hopefully both will give you lots!
Before you bite my head off this is obviously a complete poemnapping of T.S. Eliot's "Preludes". I stole the rhyming scheme totally, but it was just for fun. I wrote a poetry journal for the first week of me starting college in UCD. This was the first entry. Enjoy ;)
Jordan Gee Jul 2020
sometimes i sit and text women messages free
of any ****** connotations.
other times i come across a chopped & *******,
slowed + reverbed out version of a neoSoul song that i love.
she’s blonde and has a dumb thicc *** and
she’s a woman of few words and she was born
under  a constellation of fire.

like i was.

her eyes are nearly unblinking
and they say less than her mouth
but i know
there is a sea
of symbol-sets
beneath those televised eyes.

how am i supposed to weave or write
when the joy is coming for my neck.
time is the measure of energy in motion

so i turn the dial wayyy down.

God is not a time-piece.
God is a flour mill -
shaped like an inside-out hourglass
in the background of XI Jinping’s latest video on
Tik Tok.
“Violent anarchists held a ‘Night of Rage’”
“Violent anarchists graffitied the Hatfield Courthouse.”
“Violent anarchists continue to attack law enforcement with lasers.”

gravity is ******* the feet and
hills are ******* the walking.
graveyards are a hard one for the memory
(if you believe your family is another pile of bones).
at least we have our three deaths to draw on and die.
1st when our last breath leaves us
2nd the last time someone speaks our name
3rd when Zuccman the Reptilian deletes our postumus, memorialized FB account.


where lies the heart of the enlightened without a mirror?
or when the three deaths are drawn and
it hangs suspended in purgatory like a
pack of Newports in the freezer?
or like a stylized hospital mask produced under
contentious labor practices and
shipped to America via air freight
passing over the Xinjiang province where crimes against humanity
are being committed on an industrial scale ----
The Uighurs NEED OUR HELP THEY SUFFERING A GENOCIDE
THEY ARE BEING ETHNICALLY CLEANSED!!
https://www.vox.com/2020/7/28/21333345/uighurs-china-internment-camps-forced-labor-xinjiang
https://www.vox.com/2020/7/28/21333345/uighurs-china-internment-camps-forced-labor-xinjiang
SJ Sullivan Jan 2016
Debauchery was in the air for all of us last night.
Neo hip hop stoner jive.

I once watched my friend break down into tears after
hearing a Phil Collins song while shopping for dinner
in a Louisville gas station.

Angela will get up and leave the room if The Reason by Hoobastank
comes on the radio and you still listen to Closing Time when you get ready for bed.
Weird phrases are hovering through the air.

I turned on the bathroom fan to avoid sitting in silence with myself and you ripped up all my potted plants and sold my favorite arm chair on craiglist.
I wake up sobbing.

You were chewing on a red pen, but i thought it was a twizzler. I worked up the courage to ask you for one.

The chainsaw love song of the jumping spider
makes the snare drums in your ears roll.
Its gold in the right light.
Even better in the under light.

I told you i think its weird that everyone buys shoes
and maybe some people feel about their shoes
the way i feel about my shoes,
Which is a good feeling.

I am writing this poem while other people
read poems that the have written also.

I am too anxious to ask people when podcasts become a thing
and what does it mean to be a podcast?

A friend once said it would be cool if your poetry professor
told you to ******* but its also cool when they get you a
glass of water at the poetry reading where you are writing poems.

I think the girl in front of me is writing a poem too.
I wonder if she writes about spiders.
I wonder if she is giving her mom a poem for her birthday.
I wonder if she drafts poems about how you make her feel but
deletes them before they burn into her laptop screen.

I wonder how you feel when you make me feel good and happy.
I hope that you feel like the way i feel when you make me feel good and happy.
I am glad we are friends. I want you to play piano with me on sunday evenings
so we can prelude into the perpetual strain of sunday to saturday.
It may, if we play loud enough, dampen the bodies of the
****** and doomed that we inhibit on weekdays.

I wish I could write poems that inspire your poems.
I wrote this at a poetry reading.
mike dm Jun 2016
i am openshut basket case.
a real cool hand luke
who throws febrile shade

on all
the things.

step on the corona of my silhouette
and i wet gods red
with bottled up passive agro tactics.

king.
crown.
thrown

into
this ****.

i didnt ask for it;
so, now im asking
for it.

i like to think i was,
once upon
a slick timespace,

******* whole -

instead of
flipped chan-
nel;
snow s t  a ti    c,
no signal;

running TVly
with bulls that pushpull the cool

that keeps me
from editing me out
with metallic deletes.
Cole Hearn Oct 2015
The house alarm threw a fit,
Loud sound night red upset! If
she hadn't made it home after I glitched,
the alarm would still breath wail live.
But she pressed numerous soft keys,
like seven red green backspace deletes.
I couldn't remember the code,
I hug you, you scold,
you get down and say cold,
Listen Good Cole;
This is mine, not your home.
The brain controls everything no matter what the heart says
The brain dictates forwards and reverses,rewinds and deletes, you see results have proven this theory. I school
The brain looks exactly the same
Refreash and re-organise your mind wait as your next mistake elaborates its self
Endless all over your thoughts.

Whenever you try to do a
"Cut and Paste"
of your faces in life;
It deletes the originals,
Giving all imitations;
It limits to your
Shadow faces
To be  unshared faces;
To be  unshaped faces;
To be  unshaded faces;
It is your mirror
facing
one towards the ugly;
the other, as the  elegant.
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
williamsji@yahoo.com
www.williamsji.com
Chelsea Molin Jul 2017
She lays on her back
His lips writing a one way ticket
Out of hell, but only for a few minutes
She puts on her make up
And her big smile
For a moment, nothing's wrong.
She throws another shot back
There's  too many to keep track
She doesn't want to remember
She makes mistake after mistake after mistake
Conscious and deliberate
Because she's desperate to fix it.
She stares at his pictures
With tears flooding her eyes
She grabs her phone,
She has to give him one more try
She waits and she wonders
How could this be goodbye?
She burns his pictures
Deletes his number
She doesn't want to remember
She makes mistake after mistake after mistake
Conscious and deliberate
Because she's desperate to fix it.
She's dangerous, reckless
Doing things she knows are wrong
She's hurt and she's broken
How can he not come around?
She gets lost in the *****
And all the guys who abuse
Because she's desperate to fix it.
She doesn't want to remember
She makes mistake after mistake after mistake
Conscious and deliberate
Because she's desperate to fix it.
Jack Sep 2014
Broken thoughts invade my mind
Atop an asphalt parking lot
In phrases I've since left behind
A few of them so long forgot

Still in between this yellow stripe
Where tired treads have left their mark
And apricots have tasted ripe
I stand here thinking in the dark

What comes of this in future days
When time has gone and love appears
Two hearts collide in full display
And happiness deletes the fears

If sunny skies are all we see
Beyond the edge of weathered fence
Will you now stroll along with me
Regardless of a past offence

Then come, let's run this narrow path
Your hand in mine, no time to wait
And live affection's aftermath
Before the time does get too late
Donall Dempsey Apr 2019
ALWAYS THE SAME DREAM

"PING!" goes the microwave.
"PING!" goes the yet-again-Internet.

The Lady of Shallot
deletes Lancelot

from her facebook
friends.

She pokes Tennyson but Tennyson
doesn't like to be poked.

The world and its shadows
stream through her BT provider.

A post informs her that
"Popty Ping!" is Welsh

for microwave.
She clicks Like.

Doesn't remember when she
last interfaced with the real

world
the big bad world

that huffs and puffs
outside the frosted glass.

She posts a new status:
"Agoraphobics are people too!"

What was Tennyson thinking of?
She didn't ask to be created!

A woman made from "words
words...words. . .words!"

"The curse has come upon me!"
She has run out of Lil-Lets.

"Chop shallots & simmer
lightly in butter, then. . ."

the Youtube video
instructs her.

She finishes yet another
bottle of cheap plonk.

It's so hard to be
a fictional character

in a modern world
that's gone digital.

She thinks of Googling herself
but then thinks twice of it.

She falls asleep on the couch.

The cat perches on top of her head.

In her dream she is
forever floating...floating

"On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky"

It's always the same dream.
Not only giving a fictional character a modern life but having had her have to deal with all things modern and yes....cruel as it may seem autocorrected.

And yes I guess she at least knew who she was or where she stood as a fictional character but by being autocorrected by a whim into a real life world and all its attendant miseries she probably thought it had been better when she had been purely a creature of words. I hate autocorrect as I wish to be the one saying what I am going to be saying and not a machine second guessing me....I could never turn it off on my phone and had to endure it.
Donall Dempsey Apr 2016
ALWAYS THE SAME DREAM

"PING!" goes the microwave.
"PING!" goes the yet-again-Internet.

The Lady of Shallot
deletes Lancelot

from her facebook
friends.

She pokes Tennyson but Tennyson
doesn't like to be poked.

The world and its shadows
stream through her BT provider.

A post informs her that
"Popty Ping!" is Welsh

for microwave.
She clicks Like.

Doesn't remember when she
last interfaced with the real

world
the big bad world

that huffs and puffs
outside the frosted glass.

She posts a new status:
"Agoraphobics are people too!"

What was Tennyson thinking of?
She didn't ask to be created!

A woman made from "words
words...words. . .words!"

"The curse has come upon me!"
She has run out of Lil-Lets.

"Chop shallots & simmer
lightly in butter, then. . ."

the Youtube video
instructs her.

She finishes yet another
bottle of cheap plonk.

It's so hard to be
a fictional character

in a modern world
that's gone digital.

She thinks of Googling herself
but then thinks twice of it.

She falls asleep on the couch.

The cat perches on top of her head.

In her dream she is
always floating...floating

"On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky"

It's always the same dream.
Donall Dempsey Apr 2019
ALWAYS THE SAME DREAM

"PING!" goes the microwave.
"PING!" goes the yet-again-Internet.

The Lady of Shallot
deletes Lancelot

from her facebook
friends.

She pokes Tennyson but Tennyson
doesn't like to be poked.

The world and its shadows
stream through her BT provider.

A post informs her that
"Popty Ping!" is Welsh

for microwave.
She clicks Like.

Doesn't remember when she
last interfaced with the real

world
the big bad world

that huffs and puffs
outside the frosted glass.

She posts a new status:
"Agoraphobics are people too!"

What was Tennyson thinking of?
She didn't ask to be created!

A woman made from "words
words...words. . .words!"

"The curse has come upon me!"
She has run out of Lil-Lets.

"Chop shallots & simmer
lightly in butter, then. . ."

the Youtube video
instructs her.

She finishes yet another
bottle of cheap plonk.

It's so hard to be
a fictional character

in a modern world
that's gone digital.

She thinks of Googling herself
but then thinks twice of it.

She falls asleep on the couch.

The cat perches on top of her head.

In her dream she is
forever floating...floating

"On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky"

It's always the same dream.
Peter Heerings Jul 2015
The eye of the world

She sees
She selects
She moves
She deletes
She reminds
She pictures
She shows
She is the one
Her lens the eye of the world
She just for a second
Makes sure the moments
Become eternal
She sees
She moves
With the right click
Of those who are left
At places nobody sees
- Heerings July 2015
Donall Dempsey Feb 2017
"AHHHHH...MEN!"

Mary's mobile
bleeps.

Text.
( First 3 notes of SHAFT ).

It was the angel
Gabriel.

"Yo Mary babeeee!
Guess who's gonna be

the mother of God!"

She's all fingers
and thumbs.

Can't get used to
this new technology.

Preferred the blinding
flash of light

floaty dudes
who were a bit of alright.

She just sends
a "?" back.

Quick as a flash
Gabe texts her back.

"Hey girllll
it's you!"

She texts a curt
!!!NO WAY!!!

Mary panics: " Jesus Christ
I'm way too young to be

having the Son of God!"

She smothers her mobile
under a pillow.

Hoping that it will
just go away.

"BleepbleepbloodyBLEEP!"
it muffles messages.

When she dares to look next
there are like. . .!

69 unread
texts.

"I swear to God!"
she tells herself.
"I'm not having it!"

She deletes
the lot.

Un-friends Gabe & God>

Uses a word that isn't
nice!

"Good riddance to a bad lot!"
she convinces herself.

"I want to be my own
woman!"

Puts on the scarletest lippy.
Cleopatra's her eyes.

Hits the town.
Paints it red.

Ends up in a seedy
karaoke joint

G&T; in one hand
mike in the other

belting out:

"Once I was afraid...
I was petrified. . !"
How the Annunciation would have panned out in today's technical world of mores and morals and mobiles.

— The End —