"photobomb" poems
Who knew they would be so trendy
in today's era of the ".com"
As commanders in chief in a modern war
declaring their weapon in silent unison, "Photobomb"
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
I didn’t mean to photobomb!
I just got dropped into the frame..
Thanks Mom!
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
I want to do fun things
like sing, joy bring and blow some smoke rings.
I wanna do so many things I know make no sense,
but somehow the dumbness of the act brings a rush of childhood innocence
so in my own defense
******* Disney told me to not grow up
So I got drunk and acted dumb thinking I'd never be grown up
but man I've drank til I've thrown up
bone dry lips chucking fluids from the stomach corrupted guts
**** outta luck and then you say maybe it is about time to grow up.
But **** that I wanna drive in cars above permissible speeds
and I've had my car taken away for doing the deed
highway tow truck repossession sessions
is bad endings
sorry we'll have to call a cab friends.
But that's not where the night ends.
Lets take these bad feelings and squeeze em into a bottle
examine and give them meaning. Or am I dreaming?
How can I still aspire to admire those who do stupid things like set things on fire?
I am no burning man.
But like I said, fun things is what I wanna do.
Take too many drugs and get in an **** somewhere like Bonnaroo.
Like what would you do? these thoughts never occur to you,
I do dumb things not for wealth
I'm doing them for myself.
I wanna dress up as the grim reaper and photobomb the pictures at every marriage for money,
now THAT'D be funny.
I'd look back and laugh and one day they'd look back and say who's that?
Or maybe they won't.
Or maybe they will when it is over cause let's face it, it's a ******* wedding photo.
What's the point of looking you were there and you lived it.
But please spend copious amounts of money for the memories you might one day lose.
Spend all your money.
Your dimes, nickles, dollars, buy gold and diamond rings,
You do that dumb **** and I'll do fun things.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
1. I love the way the way you smile at me when our eyes meet
2. I love holding your hands and walking with you
3. I love the way you believe in me
4. I love it when you turn around to kiss me on the nose every morning
5. I love the way you that you love me at night right before you go to sleep
6. I love how you say nothing when I purposely photobomb your endless selfies
7.I love how we talk endlessly into the night with nothing but coffee between us
8. I love how you pick me up when i am feeling low
9. I love how you remember all the things i forget
10. I love how you rescue me from spiders, cats and raccoons
I only wish you were here with me
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 12:23 AM UTC
You know,
such a keyword
like (like)
a photobomb I plus-one
but forgot to re-tweet
cause I got Merked
but,
YOLO
It be Swaggy
that I Reach
Cray-Cray.
Wordy be *****
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
we talk about depression like an old, long lost friend; hes the guy that no one can ever remember who invited him to the party, but he always showed up before the end of the night. hes in every photograph we’ve ever taken, a photobomb that we had no chance of preventing. i used to think that he sat behind us like a wave, looming over the shore, wondering when it would crash but i know now he was nestled in the waves of our hair, sat in the spaces between our teeth, lodged in our throats. he knew how to conceal himself when there were cameras around. his name sits uncomfortably in our mouths, like its too big; or maybe its just too ****** his arms always felt warm when they wrapped around my waist to remind me that i still had a waist, i didnt want to have a waist. he spoke every language, knew what to call my downfall in fifteen dialects. he was the kind of friend to hit you where no one would see and claim the battle wound for his own. he had a superpower. he was invisible, but only when he wanted to be, and only to those who he didnt want to see him. he was a magician, a jack of all trades. he dipped his toes in darkness and shook them in my direction; he knew that i dont know how to swim. he knew that i would not want to learn how to swim for him.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
Here’s to all the people that photobomb my holiday pictures,
unsuspecting exhibitionists in my summer memories.
After a while, I become fonder of them than of the places I’ve visited.
They now seem to know me better than most of my friends and relatives,
we start sharing secrets and unspeakable thoughts,
we become connected by an invisible red line,
that passes through all the virtual mess
and intimate celluloid of our afterlife.
I’m sure that somewhere,
in Russia,
or maybe in the Czech Republic,
there’s some poor *** schmuck that’s working up the nerve
to ask me out for a drink
or for some pasta,
not caring that I’m rushing through his photo,
on my way to a public restroom,
or a bar that serves all you can eat, drink and love.
The photos holding the proof of my existence in a certain moment
are facing the ground,
while their owners rehearse their speech
in front of the mirror,
leaving me and all the other tourists through life
behind the black hole library shelf,
in perfect equilibrium,
not knowing if I’m coming or leaving -
an impersonal group of pixels and dots, on a white piece of character.
Here’s to all the strangers in my heart!
Here’s to all the hearts to whom I’m a stranger!
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC