"instagrams" poems
Black power!
I stopped hiding from my roots, I do not let my natural tightly coiled strands become chemically manipulated into bone straightness. I'm no longer hiding from my roots.
My natural hair will represent this
I went on an interview today for a position as a dental assistant, checked out the office on the website right after and then
oh no
The staff is all white, what if I don't get hired because of...
Black Power!
I stopped hiding from my roots; the sun is not my enemy. I no longer veil from its rays because the fear of getting "blacker." Look at that skin; love its rich deep melanin. Follow my movement; I'm no longer hiding from my roots.
My black skin will prove this
The other night I went out with a couple of new friends,
to be more precise they were homemade Alantians.
Born and raised in Atlanta!
It was a nice warm night, and at the end of it they wanted to take some pics to post up on their instagrams. But guys wait; let’s get into the light, I don’t want to appear all dark next to you light brights. You are all mixed which makes you effortlessly good lookin'
snap
Ugh I hate it I'm to black, don’t post that.
I stopped hiding from my roots, I rock my tightly coiled natural strands.
I'm not ashamed of who I am, Look at my skin and its deep rich melanin
Walking with my fist raised up in the air to represent what I on a daily contradict.
Black Power!
Forgive me, I'm new to this. When I was growing up the things that embodied our black nation was never accepted.
Black power! I'm ready to follow this radical movement.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
I don’t know you well enough
or I’d read you this poem.
I don’t know you well enough,
though your quite handsome.
I don’t know you well enough
for you to care about my interests,
I don’t know you well enough —
we haven’t reached that level yet.
I don’t know you well enough,
but if I did I wouldn’t want to.
I don’t know you well enough,
please keep playing elusive.
I like your life, but
I don’t know you well enough
to like your instagrams —
it could seem stalker-ish.
We’ve talked about dinner,
but I don’t know when
or if we’ll actually go.
I don’t know you well enough.
I don’t know you well enough,
but text you regardless,
you invite me backhanded
to your friends' plans.
I don’t know you well enough,
to hold your glance,
you buy me a beer,
my hands fold between my legs.
I don’t know you well enough,
but I know when your drunk.
Your friends leave
and I give you a ride home.
I don’t know you well enough,
but you invite me in,
your cat treats me like
a familiar friend.
I don’t you well enough,
but I know when we share spit,
it just lubricates comments
on our horniness.
I don’t know you well enough,
but I know your apartment —
your couch is too squishy
and your bed is too close.
I don’t know you well enough.
I ask if *** will ruin this,
but don't know what this is.
I don’t know you well enough,
but I sleep in your bed.
Your rolling-over motion
was disappointing,
but not unexpected.
I STILL don’t know you well enough,
but I know three unanswered texts
means your not interested
in telling me.
Or perhaps,
I don’t know you well enough.
I don’t know you well enough,
but I’m getting to know me
and I know that naiive
isn’t who I want to be.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
I wish that someday,
People will raise their heads,
From their phone screens,
And look up at the fleeting blue sky.
And just marvel at it.
With their eyes.
Not through their instagrams,
Not through their camera lens,
Not through the reflection on their screen.
I wish people would just free themselves,
From social media.
The impulsive need to be on the now,
The relentless need to stalk someone or something.
I wish people would just live for a second,
Without being bowed to a device
That clearly controls
Every aspect of their freedom.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC
Her aversion was never self-sought
Judas claimed the reins
A sublime success
Over all of the
Year 2k's youth
An artists poetic addiction
Visions hunted
Instagrams compelling
Disruptions
Dark places
Freezing ice in May
Ties together future ends
Nuzzling enemies
Worlds ending
Fire or perhaps ice?
For all of lands
Have frozen
Cold hearts of stone
Building hell
She watches it
Freeze over.
© Sia Jane
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
I stumble online, finding stories saying
"90 year old couple dies holding each other" and "Lovers find each other
again after 50 year separation" and I think of the modern day love story,
meeting in between bar stools, exchanging twitters and Instagrams
adding them on Facebook, waiting for the message button to light up
cutting every minute they won't reply into an exact science of what it
all means, we fall in love in front of our phone or our computer screens,
looking into the eyes of a camera and playing chopsticks on the skin
of our keyboards I stumble online, finding
these stories,
and I hope their true.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
Since they’re no longer popping up on your news feeds every time you check your Facebook, you eventually start forgetting about them. You will no longer publish photos, status updates, or instagrams with the back-of-the-mind hope that they will see what you’ve been up to and notice that you’ve been having fun without them.
You start focusing on yourself and having fun for yourself, instead of always trying to one-up each other in the battle of winning the breakup. After a breakup, we tend to remember all the good things about our exes and forget the bad things. This can keep us emotionally glued to them. Why not remember all the things that bugged you about him instead, like how he snored like a foghorn or made exotic animal sounds during *** By remembering his annoying habits, it’ll be easier to let go.
Feeling good about yourself
The primary reason I hesitated to delete him was because I was holding onto the hope that he would one day become relevant, in any capacity, to my life again. So, even though we had broken up, I still refused to break up on the Internet.
After I deleted my ex, I no longer concentrated on why we broke up and what went wrong. I stopped missing him and was able to stop fixating on him. I felt better about myself because I started to see that I deserved better than him and what he gave me; I was happier and content.
Wondering if he cares
Once you stop obsessing over him, you will come to realize that you stop caring whether he cares about you or not. You are no longer a part of their life, and you will start to see that life is pretty good. You begin to understand the truth, that there’s nothing you could’ve done or said that would’ve kept him around. Even if you were the most perfect person in the whole world, he still would’ve found a reason to break up with you.
Moving on
Instead of being fixated over how much you still love him, how about turning that love within yourself? What do you love about yourself? Is it your humor, your intellect or your creativity? The more you love yourself, the less likely you’ll crave that love from your ex. Additionally, think about where you are in your life and what you want to accomplish.
Now’s the perfect opportunity, so get going on achieving those dreams! Meet new people, go travel, hang with your friends, do things you love; because life is too short to dwindle over why someone couldn’t see the best in you. Stop playing, “He loves me, he loves me not.” Play, “I love myself” instead. Use this experience to empower yourself to live better and love better
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 6:48 AM UTC
I always get myself into this mess
I always let him tell me I'm smart, I'm pretty
I always let him tell me I have a nice smile, I'm amazing
I always let him tell me I have a great personality
And that he loves me for all the right reasons
And that I'm way to good for him
And I believe him
I believe every word that comes out of his mouth
Thinking he will catch me
When I hopelessly fall in love with him
But alas, that will never be my reality
He will never catch me
Instead he will message other girls while we go out for dinner
He'll comment on their instagrams while I'm sitting right beside him
And of course he will sext them, because what I have to offer will never be good enough
But for some ********* reason
I still can't stay away
And I get myself into this mess
Because for I am a hopeless lover and dreamer
And the will be the death of me
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 11:16 PM UTC
When we say or use the word
"perfect"
(like placing a cherry on top)
nothing more can be added
and so it must done.
Why strive so heavily to be "perfect"
the end of being one
narrative
recipe
picture perfect views
a day or night captured
Kodak moment
flight
"perfect"
monuments of yore
award winning shot
catastrophe and history
the good and bad
had and have not's
great wonders of the world
Instagrams of pearls
In the eyes beholden much
beauty is the art
and the heart is what is touched
ever gracefully
so it goes
the very Life that flows...
She wants a perfect nose
a face to match Shakespeare's prose
I don't
want to want at all
nor do I want "perfect"
I want tomorrow and ever more
the mystery with you
finding that love is more than
footprints on the shore
I want more than what looks
"perfect"
With you love is
more
than...
absolute.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
my mother taught me how to share
i never had an "i don't wanna" moment
i was respectful and kind and never claimed anything was fully "mine"
however now i don't want to share
i don't want to see her with someone that's not me
i don't want to see instagrams of her calling someone else babe
or snapchats of her new "princess"
call it being greedy or jealous
but i don't want her to be someone else's
just as i don't want to be with anyone other than her
i want her mouth only on mine
call it possessiveness or whatever you want
i want her to be happy i just want it to be with me, i don't want her "i love you's" to fade to "i care", or "i'm still here"
i long for her touch and her presence
i feel as if i didn't appreciate what i had when i had it
and now somebody else might steal my baby
and i don't want to share...
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 12:32 AM UTC
I am runningshuffling awaytowards meyou
Underover inout updown
My skin’s creepingcrawling a walkjogruntrot
offon myyour bodybuddy
stuckmoving througharound
my contentupset stageaudience
screamwhispers whyhow iamamnot
happysadgladangrydisgustefplease
I do not not want to not not want whatwhowherewhenwhyhow
Iknowyesnomaybeso can’trepeat canremember
the questionanswer problemsolution
Dramaticpragmatic topsyturvy jaggedcurvy
butteredunbutterflied catapillcocoonsburyresurrect
christanpagan nonnotunsmoking holysacrilege
donundone wonlost underover sunmoonlightdark
Singsungsanging a lullabyanthemrhymenomore
Instagrams socialanticipation partwholly couthun
Kaurrupillaurelsfordrivel I wantneedtogostay
Writeunwrite my thoughtswords publishredact
alovehate wedunwed wonlost wasneverwas
realitydreamsoffairunfairaffairsofheartstreamgulch
Hereliesstandsthere once wasis afairyunjust conprehensivegyst of tallsmall taletelltolduntold
I want to not not want you wantneed youme
to alwaysnever nowthen so I cancouldshouldwill
be presentpassive in athe time of troublesuccess
so wemeyoutheythemus werearewillmightbe
awareunaware silent and listen have the same lettersvowelsconsonantssoundsunsounds
Shakespeare shookshakes spearssparszounds
Inoutupdownleftright lifedeathcradlegrave
~
NM
01/08/20
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 10:49 PM UTC
Strange trip through time as the music I hear comes from when I was in highschool.
Currently I am 31, Korn are now an old band, smoking has been replaced by the juul and I find myself thinking when did I no longer have my finger on the pulse of society?
Do teenagers know that their culture is created by 30 and 40 year olds who know them so well that they can target their individuality and make a profit out of them?
Did I?
I was rocking out to The Cure and The *** Pistols in highschool while everyone around me was listening to the black eyed peas and slipknot and somehow I still see the irony of it all.
How detached am I?
Is youth the key to being in touch with whats happening unless you find yourself as an influencer?
Another social term that only existed in fashion magazines when I was in highschool now we focus on Instagrams and snapchats to tell us what's what and what fashion to follow.
I'm trending on my younger self and what we call **** riding or *** kissing is now called stanning... Am I losing touch?
is this what age does or does society simply become more marketable and I fall for less the older I get?
At what point do I walk away and become old and just simply don't get it?
Age sneaks up on us and soon we forget and lose track of what's happening and soon we have a group of highschool wannabe punk *** kids laughing at us as we stand in line at the mall, wired, tired and exhausted from work but we've only got a few hours to get this last minute gift for our friend or for a babyshower and we make under what we deserve because we bust our *** and yet the house payment racks up and our manager who is younger than us by a year somehow thinks they're better than us, so we have to see these hoodie wearing smirking *** teenage brats mock us, meanwhile we can outdrink, outparty, outfuck and out run them because no matter how hard they think they are, we've got the experience to support us.
Age sneaks up and soon those punk *** whiny instastars become 30 year olds who say the same **** we do because when we're young everyone lives forever and hindsight is 3030 or 4040 but this is part bitter, part better, its part knowledge and part wisdom, it's part jaded and part self aware.
At the end of the day it's all just signs of age.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 3:26 AM UTC