"flappy" poems
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird
Was this the right choice?
Seeing warnings on twitter
Thinking they're all quitters
Thinking you're better
But in reality, you're just as equal as them.
But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird
Seeing your friends play, you start multiplying
Not even touching a pipe and dying
You're on the floor, you're crying
Pressing start over and over again and trying
Knowing your high score is low and start lying
because you know you ****
But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird
Questions going through your mind
"Why did I die?"
"Did I really touch a pipe?"
"Why do iPhone users only have day while Android have both day and night?"
"Why is it slower on other phones?"
"How do you get past 20?"
"Why do I keep dying?"
"Why do Android users have other colors?"
But the question you should be asking is...
"Am I going mad?"
But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird
Now, the resolution.
Stop the addiction.
Press that "x"
You know its for the greater good.
I know YOU feel the ANGER whenever you die.
You don't wanna risk throwing your phone for that.
Take my advice. DO IT.
Before it ruins your life.
But as the day passes...
You can't.
You can't.
You can't.
Its too late.
Flappy Bird is now part of life.
Even though the anger
The anger that feels like your chest being stabbed by a knife
Hurts you so much
Deep inside you get a little happy...
Knowing somewhere in the world someone trying the same game
Got less than you.
Less than 3, 2, or 1.
And because of this you want to beat more people who **** more than you.
And this should be an achievement
You, state your name, got YOUR own high score.
YOU did it
YOU made it to one pipe or even more.
And if you didn't
Well ***** for you
But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
sad bad
so no sad
sad happy
happy flappy
flappy clappy
dappy slappy
spousal abuse
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
You're going to die
But there's a list of the 30 best cat selfies on buzzfeed
Something is going on in Ukraine, or is it Venezuela?
But it's ok...
Sherlock is back on
And you haven't finished Game of Thrones yet
God is a twisted sadist if he exists at all
But you have some notifications on Facebook
Don't think,
Just pick up the phone and play Flappy Bird
Let the feelies get to those thoughts that creep in
The revolution wasn't televised
It was tweeted
And its auto-tune remix went viral the next day
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
In the beginning it was fine
When I played it the first few times
I grew old and weary
Losing a bit of me
Lending this game most of my precious time
Not knowing this will lead to my...
Envy-because my highscore is 8
Vengeance- because the pain is too much
Enragement- because my highscore is 8
Rotteness-because I've been playing all day
Probably I will stop,
Letting go is a choice,
Allowing this game to control me should be no more
Yes! I should never play again but...
I need to try it once more
Travelling the pipes of legend
Again and again I fail
Gone is all my efforts
Atrocious this game is
I conclude
No...
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
concrete shades the yellow-lighted symphony.
The peso-heavy take taxis;
security valets motors steaming castle gates.
I ask, which way is the 158?
Indifferent, they say, walk straight neath the freeway —
there is a bus stop two blocks away.
****
****
****
Clocktower hands transpose Cindarella-brick
to embers of electricity,
a factory aside scrawled graffiti;
fingers timidly ricket pitchfork fences.
Palermo is 11 km north.
Where is the north star?
I look straight ahead, repeating what
the travel blogs said like,
Be lost, don’t look lost;
flappy plastic maps scream vulnerability.
Be lost, not rich;
iPhones in gotham alleys are batman signals.
Walk fast.
Don’t pay attention to the eyes that pass.
Careless ponytails and brass hair attract
glances back.
Two blocks deep into the homeless shelter
beneath freeways, blankets
in shopping carts toppled over,
cars screaming away the symphony
into shadowed silence between heels striking.
Tunnel breath emerging on the other side,
gasping past stacked Jenga towers,
wired with antennas and empty clotheslines;
families and crack ****** sleep inside.
Safety’s herd thins as couples dart left down
cobblestone tributaries
that either lead to bus stops or parked cars.
I walk straight ahead with
sleeve-covered hands that swing like sticks
in the wind.
The symphony turns to
heartbeats and footsteps
plucking quickly;
fearing the 180 behind,
to zombies with sunken eyes,
thirsty for a thirty-cent high.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
If I could love with an old-fashioned love,
they'd wonder whether I was mentally stable,
'cause no one lets me past that casual stuff.
See, all that game-playing --- I've had enough.
They say it only happens in a fable,
but I could love with an old-fashioned love.
People reject what the heart's capable of,
they treat it like the bill for the cable.
They never let me past that payment stuff.
I wouldn't want something held high above,
just something simple, without label,
if I could love with an old-fashioned love.
Not sentimental --- ...not roses, not doves.... ---
but basic, kindred, sustained, and stable.
But no one lets me past that puppy-dog stuff.
Maybe when I'm a ghost, a flappy old glove,
I'll find someone who's willing and able.
If I could love with an old-fashioned love ---
Enough! --- wait, what was I thinking of?
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 3:12 PM UTC
Symmetry is what kills me
Everyday
Proxy and poking
All day all day all day
Symmetry is what kills me
Proxy and poking
What kills a lady
With a shuffling heart
Heart beats a pitter patter across a blood stream
Angles and ages
America, isn't the symmetry of my veins that carry my oxygen enough?
Why does the flesh
My mounted flesh
Purpose was to sheath me from the cold
Purpose is now askew
Mixed and messy
Even my perception is far from Symmetrical.
I apologize for my odd lips
Minor and minute
My DD faces
Is that not what the true face is?
The pink heads splayed across a globed smile and frown
Lopsided and all that matters
My true face is covered
But my true face is the object of obsession
My silly, silly old lips
My flappy *****
My rings of curly tresses galore
Symmetry still kills me, everyday.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 4:43 AM UTC
Air particles
Swirl round and round
No different as before
An ant,
Crawls towards my hand
And I squish it ever so slowly.
I cannot feel the inky mess at all
It is nothing but a tiny black dot
That simply just moves
The sky, looks nothing more
Than an endless pattern of blue and white
The trees, saplings of tasteless broccoli
The grass, strands of wild hair
The insects, filthy lice that live in amongst them
The flowers, mini cracked plates of emptiness
The birds, flappy pieces of pasta
The rain, annoying lost beads from broken jewellery
How does the sun watch over the world each day, let alone rise and shine?
How does the moon travel the empty black, let alone rise and glow?
The world is nothing but a meaningless dream...
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
Old Italian Ladies walk around in long black dresses
A handkerchief tucked up one sleeve for blowing little noses
They are soft and round, with flappy forearms
And give greasy lipstick kisses as they clutch you to their chests
Old Italian Ladies smell like olive oil and flour
And they give out oozy chocolates with red cherry sauce inside
Their enormous laps are like lumpy old recliners
They sing songs about amore' as they rock you off to sleep
Old Italian Ladies let you go down to the basement
Where the air is cool and shelves are lined with jars of pickled green beans
And wide mouthed bottles bursting with clumpy red tomatoes
They use creaky wooden step stools when they need to reach up high
Old Italian Ladies pierce your ears with just a needle
A bar of soap, a lump of ice
A loop of string to make the earring
And a tiny glass of anisette for the tears after the sting
Old Italian Ladies were the matrons of my childhood
Intoning rosaries, invoking saints
Making garlic studded meatballs
Dispensing love as freely as hard candy from their purses.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
I am in the coffee shop.
You wish you were.
Your snouty head is one great flappy nostril.
Your belly is huffing and I know if I could hear you
You'd be whining.
Your eyebrows are raised in a way
that defies (or proves) evolution theories.
Your pinkly jowls dripping with the mixed
urban aroma of cars, pigeons, and
smelly bipedal mammals.
An olfactory carnival.
You sit on the pavement red-leashed to a bike,
a statue of solemn dignity as passerby
pause to scritch your ****
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
I'm wearing my earbuds in my t-shirt
to listen music in class,
and text or change the music.
Play flappy bird or Pac-man
Because you downloaded it on your calculator,
Or on your E-reader.
Writing on everything,
And teaching people how to shoot
Crunched pieces of paper,
With a hair tie or an elastic band.
Talking, Laughing.
Throwing shade at the teacher.
Regretting not studying,
But you were smoking crack instead,
So it's okay I guess.
Eating in class.
A full competition
of who can spin the most rounds,
behing the back of the teacher.
(I was 3rd of the whole class :)
And laughing when you get an F
Stealing the answer keys to the homework,
And sending it in the group chat.
4 cups of coffee every morning.
Switching laptops with your friend,
Who studied for the test.
So you both get an A,
And pass the class.
Just another day of school.
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 5:23 AM UTC
Can you hear that?
that awkward silence
between you and your anxiety?
the void and the nonsensical
voices in your head?
Does it not make you feel dead?
I mean
Is it not sad how the people who
always wanna see you happy are
the reason why you're unhappy?
now our hearts are loose and flappy
Falling in love is too high of a price
I fell in love with poetry i guess
that's all i can afford
But Lately I Dont Say Much
these days you don't get what
you give
the world keeps on demanding
it only leads to grief
they keep telling me that my life
is crowded with people who will
stab me in the back with a knife
I know thats betrayal, but what
happened to loyalty? Or
perhaps I did not get briefed
I can still hear the silence
between me and them
the fakes, the jealous, the evil society
how do I handle this
do I even make it a priority?
I offered them masks cause their
character is constantly changing
They keep wondering how am I
Managing
All the pressure, the pain and the tragedies
Little do they know that there is no
strategy
I stay shut lately - I dont say much
I do not mix emotions with
devotion what do you call such?
I stay quite I stay woke
please do not provoke
Lately I Don't Say Much
I roll a dice and gamble with your life
but if oneday I decide to speak up
it will probably be too late for you to
hear me out because I would have
already cut you out of my life
But Lately I do not say nor do much
-Liaa
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 5:53 PM UTC
****** dangle ****
flappy fappy slappy
doodle
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
Us humans are sensitive,
Over little things we cry.
Men walk up to a girl,
And unnecessarily shy.
At top of a skyscraper,
We feel the breeze.
But when little but vital moment comes,
We never sieze.
We come home from work
And are usually tired.
We work our *** off,
So we dont get fired.
Nothing's perfect,
Life's always flappy.
We think it's cruel
And start feeling ******
We fear death,
But eventually we're all gonna die
Us humans are sensitive,
Over little things we cry.
We all have a dream,
But we stiffle our curiosity
We never take a stand
Or run against viscosity
We either live this world
Or we survive
We can have our dream life,
But we need to strive
A little true effort,
Can change who we are.
And one day we'll be stunned,
We've come this far
We can make our life worth,
Before we die.
Us humans maybe emotional,
But now we wont cry
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 12:57 AM UTC
Loosey goosey, Gary Busey
Makes more sense than you!
What do you see, big kaboosie?
What would Vladdy Putin do?
Fussy wussy, presidential woosy
Tell a whole buncha more lies.
Flappy ***** big **** slappy
The best your money buys.
Choppy woppy, never stoppy
Even when caught on tape.
Shouty, pouty, tough it outy
Completely out of shape.
Fleecer, squeezer, ugely obese
Shadow of your youth
Ripoff, tipoff, always lipoff.
Incapable of truth.
Heapy cheapy, never sleepy
Won’t pay your own bills.
Brainless pain, runaway train,
All your ideas can ****
Neego, peego, bloated ego
The little kids you scare,
Shard, pard, big tub of lard,
As attractive as your hair.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
1… 2… 3…
Goes a bird through three tubes
4… 5… 6…
There he goes again
7… 8… 9…
990 tubes later…
Uh-oh here comes Mario
Mario shoots fireball at bird
Bird dodges it
Bird flies through the tube with Mario
1,000 points! New Record!
Let’s go for – Oops!
Game Over…
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
There’s an old joke, “Procrastinate NOW, because
the sooner you fall behind, the longer you’ll have to catch up.”
Ha ha.
While a lot of students around here, even the good ones,
are procrastinators, I’m a diagnosed pre-crastinator.
I obsess over syllabuses and start things immediately.
I've got rough drafts of things due three months from now.
I’m a planner. Leisure time makes me itch.
I say that to say this, I’m reaping my rewards.
There’s a palpable layer of fret in the air.
Everyone's (the seniors) talking about their theses,
and how they need to start it—first thing yesterday.
I just listen, playing Flappy Bird on my phone, because I’m done.
When my professor handed my thesis paper back the other day,
he said, “This is good.” At first, I was delighted, quietly rocking it inside.
Then I floundered, becoming somewhat indignant. Why’d he sound surprised? Because I handed it in a little (80 days) early?
But soon enough, I was back to happiness.
I’ll have to defend it one day, but I’ll go first, wait and see.
Shall we wax poetic?
I’m like the sea, always restless
and I enjoy the flavor of honest effort.
I dub snark, and the little, jealous glances,
I blunt them with chey smiles, while thinking,
‘I’ll row my boat, and you row yours—just a little slower.’
Let them whisper me freakish
though I win a thousand crowns,
the real pleasure lies in my gun slinger’s sang-froid,
to finish the commission first and be the best.
.
.
Songs for this:
Let Me Down Easy by Gang of Youths
Let Me Go by CAKE
Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 11:58 PM UTC
Playing pool at 5am,
see the sun rise and seep
between mouthfuls
of double choc-chip cookies,
Mountain Dew cooling our throats
like antifreeze into a car.
I gather up your laughter for rainy days,
everything dripping in colours
that haven’t been christened.
Your fingerprint wriggles
form an island chain on the piano,
wet symbols, bathroom carpet
where you got out the shower
in a sky-blue towel;
I hid under the bed.
I tell you you’re messing
with an amateur,
kisses are pleasant glitches
but I’d miss and trip
through the open window.
My hands become flappy utensils
when I explain years months days
of apple cores piled up
behind wardrobes,
my portfolio of fiascos.
Faults are found like Easter eggs -
squeezed from toothpaste tubes,
top shelf of the oven.
This is a dark one here,
a miniature pill.
You only bring mugs
of youthful exuberance to the table.
A click. A shlock.
I turn my head,
the game lost
within a blizzard of minutes.
It’s OK I say,
I wanted you to win.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
Baddie brains blown out hick-up pick up picky pick up lines hirried stubbling drained from the gum. Yes tis gum from the stuomuch that you swallowed for month because I just loved the way you ***** *** I'm sick.
I puked.
I puked?
I started runnning the walts of Conan the quenched dominator beefing with minny mouse for spanking mickey. He sipps mickeys just so you know I'm holy dust, sike. I wish I washed my mouth month before I ate the groomed flappy fingered fizzathered lips of Haley Jade. I wish I had a ****** **** Nut after nut and after this nut another nut and a nut a then the knux cause she got the **** crumbling runs rinse me in Faygo cause these Jugglalos have hair I love to get the stow in jars from a far, because I farted. Beanie I ******* farting who started this ******** fricken flame flare Jack Keoroac couldn't spit enough spirts to-at-alley trickling pink pavement funds that freed Zepplin.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 4:49 PM UTC
We don’t hate God or the Lord,
We don’t hate the guy who made Flappy Bird.
We don’t hate hate Mommy or Daddy,
We don’t hate people who treated us badly.
We hate a star of infinite girth,
We hate the force spinning the earth.
So sleep away sunshine, the world’s turned its back on you.
Just sleep away sunshine, and spin a dream of something new.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
Fatso
You are and you aren’t
Whale
You are more than the labels they give you
Cow
It’s over now
Their insults cannot hurt you
Giant
You are not in middle school anymore
Ugly
They cannot hurt you anymore
Lard
You are a grown-ass woman
almost thirty,
unapologetically queer, hairy,
with curves and ******* and wide hips and pretty dips and
They cannot cypher their words,
syphon their insults by
relating you to a beautiful big creature
Cow, Whale, Lard, Fatso
What is a Lard but a singling
A bright beige soft nosed creature
with brownie eyes and long lashes
like a taper with a hooked nose
soft and long like an elephants
Flappy points of ears
that hear well
with tiny sharp teeth
like a land-locked manatee
or a furry caramel Beluga whale
Their insults only refer you to necessary creatures who give their life to feed you and their intellect to empower you
A Fatso is a bright blue animal that has shimmering rainbow wings (like a dragon) and thin curly white horns and milky grey eyes with a fabulous feathers and a fanned tail of royal purple that soars through the skit at light-speed and can bring the rain with its melodious cries
When they or you or they or you or
They are you you know
Insult you they are not insulting you
because a Lard and a Fatso are both such intelligent creatures
mystical and fervent
glorious and gargantuan
Large, yes
But beautiful all the same
They have sharp teeth and move through the earth or skies whenever and wherever they like
These animals have freedom
Just like how you have freedom
in how you think about yourself
which is
to think of yourself as
the sexist, prettiest, cutest
person alive
now isn’t that great?
now isn’t that grand?
You are gold plated and steel incorporated and glass blown and light shadows thrown and haggling heights and shaved delights and a hairy symphony and a harrowing city of sparkles that twinkle in the night.
You are beautiful
and might
just
save the world one day.
You are a mystical creature of the highest creed
and no one
can tell you
otherwise.
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 9:30 PM UTC
We Belong Here
Oh how we fly up away from the earth
A great nice happy feel good joyous rapture
Letting go of the ground's grip to ascend
Up into the blue blue blue where God lives
Along with Mother Nature and her elements
Nothing but beauty exists here in all ways
Ferocious to sublime to indifferent it's all here
Up where the angels live higher than cloud number nine
This is a special place where change is constant
Each moment leading to the next and next and next
Falling raindrops making a rainbow making a cloud
Chaos is here the Butterfly Effect hurricane flappy insect wings
Wrecking your town as you cower from nature's wrath
Yet when you fly in your little aeroplane she's fine
The wind thru the wires and sun on a lake oh how pretty!
The joy of flight and freedom of the skies all illusions
Greater than love and life and death and all things
Except the sky for here we belong and gasp in awe
The future is above us and we belong here here here
For this is our home...
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 12:43 PM UTC
Free birds aren't meant to be caged
Their freebirds,
They deserveth to fly...
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
Twinkletoes bring some voice
enough with flappy dance
I am deaf, but the Death
won't knock on my door
Unlucky me, I am poor
I have only purple shoe
Or maybe black or blue?
So sing for me Twinkletoes
I see only your lips' move
My ear can't listen well
but from your face I can read
that your song will be my common bread
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 5:39 PM UTC