"facebooks" poems
I've faced my most terrifying fears
and let go of people I held dear
escaped in the brink of death
conquered sleep paralysis
rejected every stupid existing fad
left my ghosts from the past
passed my worst subjects and
passed everything
But I couldn't seem to handle
A SLOW INTERNET CONNECTION
I tell my problem
the operators just roll their eyes
more than a thousand peso every month
and freaking 1mbp/s everytime
I've never tasted the quick internet connection
but you can't say that this is okay
until you watch live stream online
Slow internet...
The lan is tough ahead
the rules of survival lags
the PC hangs
Can't you give us the quality we deserve
also no, to the Telepad
they're being greedy and they know it
Everyone thinks i'm just impatient
Just cause it's true
doesn't mean that it's right
so sit down on the desk
and open that PC
let me show you what it's like
to use a computer with
A SLOW INTERNET CONNECTION
the Youtube has never gave me a video with 720p
downloading movies takes forever to take
and the facebooks works like ****
but it goes fats when I restart
ain't nobody got time for that
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
where have conversations gone
long time passing
where have all our love words gone
long time ago
where have all our love words gone
mobiles took them, every one
when will we ever learn
I hope they will return
where have all the mobiles gone
long time passing
where have all the notebooks gone
long time ago
where have all the kindles gone
turned to tablets, every one
when will we ever learn
there will be no return
where have all the tablets gone
long time passing
where have all the smart phones gone
long time ago
where have all these gadgets gone
been recycled every one
never they will return
never they will return
where have all the users gone
long time passing
where have all the texters gone
long time ago
there lie all the facebooks slain
people try to speak again
when will we ever learn
hope they again can learn
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
I don’t tell them I’m going to a protest,
as I know they will not say no, it really
is far safer.
The police have been pretty fair, only a couple
of bull **** arrests and cause white privilege
I probably won’t get arrested.
In a black and white democracy color is prohibited.
I never have been close in a protest yet, the police always tolerant
maybe the commissioner doesn’t ****
I don’t boast to them about starting a chapter in my
school.
I don’t them that the chapter I started with them was finished hundreds
of pages ago.
I don’t tell them I cut class to protest the B.S minimum wage
how I ****** the very thing I’m trying to start cause
I was in a pissy mood.
I don’t them about how my friend and I were okay
with paying a guy trying to sell us **** to buy
us alcohol, later losing 20$
and not okay with going into a tattoo shop for the same purpose.
I don’t tell them about wandering around Chinatown
feeling like we should be drunk.
About the girl who in eighth grade asked me to touch
her ***** and I don’t tell them how
two years later we start hanging out— over facebook.
She moved to London.
About how she will be in the city the day my family goes away,
about trading facebooks for fifteen minutes
and having weird *** crap on my Facebook
and talk of how Jesus is an improper child on hers.
Nor do I my parents about meeting up with a
girl who I meet a month ago at a pillow fight,
and how right they were when they said ******
tables manners will catch up to you,
about how leaving a protest cause "my parents
are ****** and later seeing those people at the burger place.
I tell my parents I’m chilling with my buddies.
I tell them that I got pizza instead of burgers.
Because friends are safer to parents than a nineteen year
old girl you met at a pillow fight and how the entire time you
could not tell if it was friends meeting up or
people who wanted more.
I don’t tell them the reason why I’m so ******* fragile
is that I can’t tell if I’m manipulating myself or being real,
or how I’m the only one who is hurting me,
for fear of saying what I just told you.
Now all of this ******* **** lives in me and I have
nobody to proofread this.
Lovely.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
The Internet, for a good helping
of the American demographic,
is the highest-rated of sanctuaries.
I use "sanctuary"
in a filthy and blatantly pornographic manner,
for every time
we post on our nicotine-scented Facebooks
that we're "so ******* bored" we "could die,"
there's at least one other
hand snaking you along
those fetishes you stash beneath your sleeve
like black silk underwear;
and no matter what you do,
nothing will explain away
those two consecutive Youtube videos:
"Black muscle man in blue thong"
followed spontaneously by
"12 year old boy sings Judy Garland!",
each, to the innocent bystander,
juxtaposed like two opposing ******
in one ****** up candy shop.
The grotesque meat show,
always the same introduction,
always right on time with the
churn churn churning of his
loneliness his rage his silence
onto those sheets
with no regard for the family
and friends of fibers.
It used to be hilarious,
perfect lunch table standup,
but once you learn
that with *** there might be
signs of love in the decipherable thrusting,
that a plot is swimming helplessly
in the oceanic camouflage of loveless living,
sticky hands can really start to sting.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
I'll write and say same words I've said
ten thousand times before
Until I don't believe
that I believe them anymore
Because riding on this carousel
means spinning one's wheels
into moist ground
thought I had some traction
but it seems I thought too soon--
So I am off of the rails
Off the wagon. Off to nowhere.
'Cuz it's, "Onward, lads,
to one more night spent
covering ground's familiar footsteps
and sheeting snowy sidewalks
in the dollars we don't have."
And we'll lay 'em kinda thick
press our prints in Presidents
pro bono comes advice
from the corners we can't heed,
but por argento comes the cure
we choose to **** our heads with
I'll pick a place, polish my boots
get far as my front steps
where I'll sit until the summer rolls around
and sweat rolls down in sheets
Short sheeted best hopes,
shortened thank-you notes
and lists of ****** quotes
lay around and resonate
on floors and facebooks,
tabletops
in summertime,
when it rolls around
But, now, it's winter
and we're all 364 1/4 resolutions older
--at 33 revolutions per minute,
and 16 ounces at a time,
we can almost cope.
Now, it's winter and the sheets are
still too warm
Now, it's winter and we sheet the
snowy sidewalks
in Presidential faces
in the dollars we don't have
and the cure we **** our heads with
keeps us safely insane
'Cuz in a world built by psychopaths,
the sane don't always last.
And, if I'm the last one out?
I'll sing a song and **** the lights before I go.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
Today we were vandals
And yesterday we were saints
Nomads of the commonly know
Where bad poetry lines live
And Facebooks are forgotten
Where ice castles witness first kisses
And they dine alone
Dashing between the straight jacket high fashions
And flipped birds instead of words
This is where we belong.
I will stay until streetlights explode
And suns melts
And all I need is in your eyes
I carry you through mouse hole thresholds
And you never made drifting look so unbearable
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
I kinda wanna watch the Dead Poets Society and cry some more
and feel ok about myself
and stop feeling so lonely inside
my own head all the time
and all the pain I've experienced, and all the pain everyone experiences, and all the hate and all the evil and all the betrayals and all the
mad strangeness
all the dead end moments spent thinking
'it's about to happen'
with that little up-euphoria and a cup of hottie coffee only to have it sink again when it's all an
unrealized
dream
for
no
reason
and all the
distance
all the facebooks
all the tumblrs
all the snapchats
all the xanax
all the drugs
all the
sobriety
all the
'maybe tomorrows'
all the
'one days'
I CAN'T EXPLAIN IT
all the banks
and
all the houses
all the flowers looking nice and the niceness looking not so nice so the niceness of the flowers
ain't
so
nice
all the jobs
and
all the laundry
all the money all the lies all the painful honest
truths
all the cellphones and water
and the fridge,
in the quiet,
humming
humming
humming
humming
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
Facebooks News feed but it does not feed,
It fuels our perception of popularity,
It makes me wonder why is it this we need?
We get a thrill out of getting a like, it this humanity
Ruining ourselves with our own intelligence?
Are we not to evolve? This does not make sense,
On twitter we tweet,
But only birds tweet,
Birds are free and wild,
They do not worry about money or time,
Or if they can make the next line rhyme,
We are as free as a bird in a zoo,
Exact times to eat and use the loo,
We are slaves of our own mind,
These "intelligent" creatures which rule mankind
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
I spy with my weatherd eyes
A broken clock that shows me better times from my past life.
As these spiteful tides have turned me
Into a grumpy soul.
This desecrated ship of doubt
It's slowly peeling me away like a potato peeler
I need to grab my papers and maps
To find the breath that I was once searching for.
These scramblings of ramblings
So nonsensical
As they lead me to the fact
That you hate that I bite my nails
Like a hangnail you chew me apart,
Gifting me these splinters from this shovel
That I used as a kid to build mountains of possibilities
Which now leaves me a hole,
To bury my soul with.
Each stone I turn I see these regrets
That look like texts I that shouldn't have sent.
The heavens from above
Have blocked their facebooks
Casting her curses in cursive
Leaving me with my grave,
My shovel,
Memories of you.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
lately I find myself scrolling through facebooks
that belong to people who I
a, don't know and
b, are dead.
20 something is too young to die.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 8:21 PM UTC
Hello dirt bike boy,
sometimes I wonder if
I should even still call
you that.
Do you ride anymore?
Or did another hobby,
or another girl replace
what you once loved?
I keep seeing your face
on the profile of people's
facebooks that I didn't even
know you knew..
I will never escape your
ghost for as long as I'm in
this state.
I hope that someday we
will talk again,
and make up
as different people.
But for now I will stay
haunted by your presence
all over this ******* county.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
Do you ever feel like maybe
there is something more to this
then half empty whiskey glasses
and empty hearts that can never be filled.
That maybe every morning when
the sun pulls itself out of bed, it is
not for waking us up too, but rather
beckoning us forward to live the life we were meant to.
What if the morning call was not
telling us to check our phones and
update our facebooks, but to whisper
our lovers name over and over again in their ear until they awake.
What if we were made for something
more than these mundane affections.
What if we were made for passion,
for adventure, for anything but this.
When I was a child, I always thought
I would burn like the brightest of flames,
but now the brightest part of my day
is when I close my eyes to end it.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
I forget what my face looks like
Because my face is always in the Facebooks,
Poking my head through other people's lives
Wishing I could be invited to.
I suffer from this curse
Of being picked last in everyone's mental gym class.
They normally pick the stronger ones,
the Foxier ones, the ones who wink at them
With quick glances across the gym.
We, my friends, are the easily forgotten ones.
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 12:06 PM UTC
TIME IS ON FIRE
the girls scream…
…the world is on fire…tomorrow is burning…
the bombs scream….the living now the dead…
mere reportage…footage…pixels…talking heads talking…
time is on fire…the world twitters and facebooks…
…only water offers a chance to see…the shore approaches…
the new day dawns….
upon eyes that can no longer… see
the gulls scream
the gulls scream
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 4:58 AM UTC