"photoshop" poems
Dye the ***** water with contaminates:
Blue #1,
and Sucralose, too.
Bend over to spray
the rotting road-kill with perfume.
Perfect the recipe
for what was fleshed and fruited
from animals and plants.
Photoshop the starved and diseased
with smiles
and beautiful bodies.
Clothe the *****
with lingerie, with heels,
and with stones.
Paint the roses red.
We paint the white roses red.
We’re painting the white roses red!
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
Society is so focused on being flawless. Perfect. No one is flawless, not even Beyonce. We will forget who we are on the inside, and soon that won’t even matter because the physical appearance is the main priority. Women these days are spending so much effort trying to look perfect, which hurts. Pretty hurts. Society is expecting women to look perfect, otherwise people will judge. ‘Perfection is a disease of a nation’. The showbiz industry is giving a negative message to the world. Photoshop is one of them. Making a celebrity look flawless is fooling the world into thinking we must look like that. Spending so much money on clothes, hair etc. but we don’t need to focus on that because all that matters is on the inside, which most people don’t seem to see anymore. We are constantly getting the messages in our mind that we must be flawless, and sooner or later, this is a disease. Some of us can’t take it anymore, which leads to anorexia, bulimia, insecurities, and issues with body image. Pain also takes over our minds, which is ridiculous. Even celebrities have gone through this because in our naïve little minds, we are thinking we have to be pretty. There is so much pressure it takes over our minds, and that’s the only thing we think about. We look into the mirror despising ourselves, because we are who we are. Society has created us into thinking there’s a certain way we must look, which there is not. Our flaws make us who we are, makes us positively different. Unique. But we aren’t allowed to think that way because the media isn’t allowing us to. When people change, they are only cheating on themselves because media displays images of what we should and shouldn’t look like. It’s not their fault though. They can’t help it. Changing, like getting botox or body implant is only giving us a masquerade. It’s a mask to hide our real, inner beauty, which the media has taken the idea away from us, to become people who we actually aren’t.
And in the end, we know that pretty hurts.
a.a.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
Milyun-milyong mga blankong mukha,
pipintahan,
papahiran ng pintora
ang iba’t ibang kastilyo ng pangarap.
Subalit sa paglipas ng panahon
ang mga kastilyong ito’y rurupok,
at sa isang ihip ng hangin
ay pwede ‘tong gibain.
Masasanay kang matalo,
para sa atin ‘tong mundo.
Para sa atin,
hindi para sa kanila,
kailanman hindi ‘to masasakop
ng mga mapapait na luha.
Nasanay ka na sa panonood
ng mga teleserye o pelikulang
kung ano ang theme song
ay ‘yon din ang pamagat.
Nasanay ka nang mag-abang
sa paiba-ibang kulay na buhok
ni Vice Ganda, o ni Yeng Constantino,
ang umasa rin sa paiba-ibang desisyon
ng mga tao sa paligid mo.
Nasanay ka nang magmahal ang gasolina,
at iba pang mga bilihin
ngunit hindi ang magmahal ng totoo,
dahil takot kang masaktan ulit,
ang iwanan, o umasa ulit,
sa isang relasyong pang-post lang
sa FB, IG o Twitter,
‘yong pang-“#relationshipgoals” lang,
nasanay ka na pero takot ka pa rin.
Nasanay ka na sa mga surprise quiz.
Sa exams. Sa reporting. Sa thesis.
Sa Singko, INC, Withdraw o Drop.
Sa pag-jaywalking,
dahil late na naman sa 7:30 AM class.
Sa paulit-ulit na sorry.
Sa paulit-ulit ding pagpapatawad.
Sa paghahanap ng ka-red string.
Sa paghahanap ng ka-forever.
Sa mabagal na internet.
Sa job interview. Sa gobyerno.
Masasanay ka ring matalo
dahil ganito ang konsepto ng mundo.
Patitikman ka muna ng pagkabigo,
bago ka ulit maging buo.
Baka rin bukas-makalawa
maiisipan mo nang mag-aral ng mabuti
at iwasang ang usapang mabote,
ang bumangon ng maaga
at hindi papatayin ang naka-set na alarm,
ang maging totoo
sa taong nagmamahal sa ‘yo,
o kaya subukang ipa-Photoshop
ang 2x2 picture mo sa resume
para sa paparating na job interview.
Masasanay ka ring matalo,
masasanay ka rin sa mga peklat mo sa puso.
Dahil hindi ito matatapalan
ng pulga-pulgadang concealer ng Maybelline,
o kahit ubusin mo pa
ang stock sa AVON, sa Watson, sa HBC, o sa Lazada.
Kaya tanggapin mo na lang
na ang buhay ay puno ng pagkatalo,
dahil sa huli para sa atin din naman ang mundo,
kaya wala kang dahilan para sumuko,
dahil ang sumusuko lang ang natatalo,
at ang hindi takot sumubok ulit
ang tunay na panalo.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
i still **** my tummy in,
imagine it smooth.
my mom was surprised when i confessed
i was shirtless,
with nothing but my sports bra.
(at least I’m tan)
you say you like my tummy,
and some days I do too.
i still slap my thighs,
imagine scrawny flesh,
stretch marks are lost among
photoshop wonderland.
i’m an hourglass figure, you say,
but I find it silly we compare body types
to glasses, and fruit,
for we are a combination of things,
we are stars, and seas, and candy,
and railroad tracks that sometimes go around in circles until
we *****
i still see my limbs as different people,
and i wish i could detach them like the toxins in my lungs.
people like my ***
so maybe that’s why I move it so much when I’m drunk.
people say I’m Arabic,
people say I’m Mexican,
people say I’m Muslim,
but really I’m all of those combined into a mixing bowl,
and one day maybe, I’ll make cupcakes
and swallow them whole.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
Go on girl, use all of that photoshop to cover up your blemishes, dark circles and what not.
We all know that you're ugly inside.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
While yes, I have a résumé
It does no justice describing mé
So I'll leave this here for all to see
All I ask is please hire me
I'm great with sales
and communication
I can create tales
with no hesitation
Been fixing PCs since '99
Right after I broke all of mine
I don't do drugs
I don't cause fights
I won't give shrugs
to new insights
I can Photoshop best selling ads
and tell corny jokes just like most dads
I write HTML
and CSS
I can kinda spell
At least try my best
Started my first business in 5th grade
Profiting from the paper airplane trade
I'm a fast learner,
a problem solver,
a trust earner,
an idea causer,
a spreadsheet slayer,
a real team player
While I'm no photography guru
I've actually had a paid gig or two
Dove into video editing
way back when MySpace was a thing
Oh yeah. Plus I'm proficient with Microsoft Office.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
A thought sometimes forms
I live too much
yet I do too little.
Woken at strange hours,
never asleep.
Rapt in raps
or wrapped in riddles
Chained to links
or hammered to handle
stubbed to bone
Mens et
Manus
There is time yet, I swear
To flourish
To dream
To make
To be
To do
To create
Will I?
We'll see
There's time yet to tell
Be yourself, they say
The best you you can be
But once more— Will I have time
To edit
I live less
I do less
Portfolio: empty
or at least, locked away.
Excitement too.
Blank slate
Blank palette
Is there any paint?
Can I truly make
excitement saturate?
Will I be able to place
value as I see fit?
Can the world be hewn slimmer, slicker
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
Tis daft I think, to amuse such a notion
But not necessarily so daft to be wrong
Emerson called it misunderstood,
Shaw found it unreasonable
But ay, theres the rub
That bed once made, must be lain in and
all dreams which might be had are alone not enough
Bloom effects don't work outside the movies.
Ideas are trash, these are recession times
Deflations made them a farthing a dozen
Started 10.03.11
Unfinished
D.B. Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
Barbie has the prettiest face
says the little girl to her reflection
how could I reach such perfection?
If only somehow I could trace
Barbie's outline and take her place
And so this became her obsession
to doubt herself and fear rejection
So there, her life became a maze.
Barbie's really only plastic.
The realization comes much too late.
All these years have been wasted.
Ideals shouldn't be so drastic.
A stressed out model is about to break,
"Don't worry, we'll Photoshop" they said.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
They have an app for everything
Apply this apple application vigorously
I need an app for this confusion
Where’re all the apps for my delusions
Hallucinations seem pretty nice
But I rather control them with an app
Delirium is no friend of mine
They control it with an app
All of these buttons produce bad business
You’re the ones who push them, I’m the witness
They take their pictures with an app
Photoshop the eye of the beholder
It’s the witching hour
They shout it from the watchtower
They climb up and down the ladder
They train the cruelest adders
With or without an app
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
Cocoon. Gloom. Womb. Doom. Room.
Don’t!
For most, words doth froth forms.
Oh, foolproof.
Lord John, Jov, Thor, Job.
Lord John knows Thor's job
Now. Photoshop. School Of Rock.
Tomorrow. Hop On Pop.
Zorro Snorro.
Who?
Wrong!
Whom?
Mr. Roboto; old clown of Oslo won’t.
Yolo. Boom!
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 9:20 AM UTC
We love to chase the wind through streaks of blinding bliss,
Tagging the glorious ideals of love, peace, friendship, even
The meaning of life, to weeping willows and pensive pebbles.
We admire the monochrome sky in all its barren blue or pregnant purple;
Hues of burple and plue are dismissed as being tedious, or just confused.
Fear not, photoshop will rectify this pigmented aberration.
We giggle at clouds that resemble kitchen utensils or mystical creatures;
“Hey look a teddy bear in a spacesuit with a flowerpot on his head wielding the Sword of Gryffindor!”
We declare sagely, with the acumen of a legendary bird watcher.
We resurrect grass angels by launching into horizontal jumping-jacks, and,
Just as a disclaimer, no flower was harmed in the process. Not that it matters,
As long as we did not soil our Lacoste and Burberry.
We spin a mixtape out of the torrential downpour, our tracks pitting
The pitter of regularity against the patter of inconstancy, synchronizing
The symphony of splashes to an undercurrent of nostalgia.
We kiss against the bark of an elm, and if a tree is not available in the vicinity,
We throw ourselves down a nearby hill, tumbling into a ball of moist romance,
Panting, as we bask in the studio lighting of the approving sun.
Every still is captured by a Lomo,
Every scene arrested in sepia motion,
Every moment ravished by the chichi Bohemian in us.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 4:03 PM UTC
My timeline is filled
With self indulgent selfies
Searching for gratification
And self satisfaction
Need to get an instant reaction
Some social media traction
There's no time for distraction
From this digital attraction
You can't get enough
Of the interaction
1,000 poses in your camera roll
Narcissists are taking control
It doesn't matter
What the time
Come wind, rain
Snow or shine
Just make sure
You look devine
Lick your lips
You're looking fine
Flip the camera
And strike a pose
Making sure
Everybody knows
Here's your next
Digital daily dose
Does it really matter
Which ******* filter you chose?
I feel like I've lost my soul
Narcissists are taking control
The bathroom
Is the perfect spot
Take your picture
Before you Photoshop
Bunny ears
And a rainbow smile
Frogs legs
And a crocodile
Snapping away
Well all the while
You could have been
Down the Curry Mile
Instead you're out there
On your own
Sat at home
On your ******* phone
Sharing pictures
With people you don't know
You'll end up on the ******* dole
Narcissists are taking control
1,000 poses in your camera roll
Mirror selfies
And online trolls
Constantly searching
To find your soul
There's no way out
Of this black hole
Just one more post
On your way home
Narcissists are taking control
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 8:34 AM UTC
skipping rocks and skipping meals
magazines are teaching her to eat less, no matter how she feels
models on instagram, tiktok, youtube, and twitter
setting unrealistic expectations with their photoshop and glitter
in size two jeans, hoping to squeeze into ones
it looks like she's living the dream, but in reality, it's not a good one
1000 calories or less, isn't it nice?
she's living in an eating disorder nightmare disguised as paradise
she's losing weight, but not feeling as though she's won
she doesn't want this anymore, when will this be done?
she's dropping pounds, but feeling so shattered
compliments left and right, but it's hard to feel flattered
she's eating nothing at lunch until she's too light to function
the cafeteria starts to feel like a dungeon
feeling sick when she eats "too much"
kneeling in the bathroom using the toilet as a crutch
and then she overcompensates with exercise
when will the people around her start to hear her cries?
things are out of control, it's becoming too much for her to handle
her world feels as though it's starting to dismantle
her mental & physical health is deteriorating as she loses the weight
when will they see what it's doing to her? hopefully before it's too late
Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 7:56 PM UTC
Hey Jessica, my tinder match
I am looking for a back to scratch
A back to scratch you may now ask?
Yes, a back to scratch!
For from our match may now have hatched
A mutual matching of hatching, back scratching
Without any strings attached!
So swipe right, yes swipe me right
Let Photoshop destroy your night
I’ll be charming, I’ll be polite
But it won’t really matter what I write
For all the signs are in black and white
If you only rely on your thumb, and on your site
An emotionless one night stand will be at their might
You see when you cut people off just based off their look
You may stop at the cover of what is life's greatest book
And instead you’ll be left with twilight, or some crap
The boring type of book that will force you to nap
With nothing but physical beauty filling that gap
Eventually ended by the reality slap
That this relationship was spawned by a ******* app
So Jessica, still wanna scratch my back?
We can start up this mutual back scratching pact?
Celebrating all the common virtues we lack
For me its looks come first, and then next your rack
But enough about me let’s hear about you?
Why are you lonely? And when can we *****
Here’s some stuff about me that is not at all true…
And if I havn’t asked already, when can we *****
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
On a school trip to a gallery,
Teachers and curators will always tell you
Look upon, examine, appreciate the art!
But they’ll never instruct you
On how to be certain
That your appreciation is acceptable and right.
Conundrum of the contemplative,
Judgement of the partisans,
Cogitation of any aware,
I’ll ponder until my encephalon
Subsides under impactful pressure
Until the logical or the just is no longer right.
Through incandesce of the morning,
In the cloak of the ever-mantling night,
Here I revel in the concept of
Eternal glee through appreciation
Of nostalgic kitsch, and graffiti—
And hyperrealism as well as photoshop
Because love isn’t just omnipotent,
It’s incomprehensible.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
I feel most lonely when sitting at my computer.
There is the promise of knowledge, creativity, friends, love, companionship, shared ideals and inspiration.
But the reality of constant connectivity is quite different.
Bullying goes on outside of school.
Oppressive people find each other and a platform to taunt and torment their victims.
Idiots band together and spread stupidity like a modern black plague.
Intelligent ideas are challenged and the people who thought them up as stupid.
Creativity is put down and judged.
People are separated instead of united.
And love? Love seems to be non existent as the ignorant people who turn on their computers to put down good and promote evil don't even realise that there is a real person on the other side of that screen, and even then some do.
My news feed is full of bad news.
Full of sexism, **** inequality, torment, animal abuse, war, ignorance, stupidity oppression, child abuse and ultimately hate.
I realise the collective imagination is dying when I can't even remember what it is I did before this accursed computer came into my life and took over.
My rewards are nothing but imagined friends and fake conversations over text, we're communicating but not connecting, something in me longs to be back when if I didn't meet my friends regularly we lost touch because that is how real relationships are supposed to work.
With care, effort, meet ups and real conversation.
Emotion instead of emoticons.
Care instead of clicks.
Laughter instead of likes.
When photographs were precious personal memories rather than a trophy of 'look where I am' 'look how pretty I am' 'look at how much fun we're having' and sharing them meant a coffee or a few beers and a trip down memory lane flipping through dusty photo albums and laughing at your awful clothes, make up, hair and the state you were in rather than scrolling back through your online albums alone and commenting on how horrendous your photoshop jobs on some of them are.
When people were living their life for themselves rather than living to try and impress others.
When it was face to face rather than facebook to facebook.
I feel most lonely when sitting at my computer.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
fragments of life
scattered on the photoshop floor
discarded moments
deleted before fully developed
urgency depicted as living for today
overexposing the instantaneous
cropping a disjointed existence
from the bitmap of impatience
why the aversion to time's darkroom
where future's blur slowly comes into focus
giving clarity to the contiguous
splicing realization from potential
cut to ending...
a panoramic view of destiny's horizon
where paths converge but never vanish
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
Dear magazine and tv fashion
hast thou ever heard of natural passion
you Photoshop you cut and crop
you edit this and that ... Please stop
the real beauties are those that know
you don't have to be a size zero
Sixteen eighteen or all above
can still find joy can still know love
nipped and tucked Kozmo get ******
only chicken skin gets plucked
wax n shave and now vajazzil it
Draba for gods sake don't talk ****
lift em up and shrink that bottom
yet there's something that you've forgotten
men prefer a sense of humour
to all this artificial hoo haw
so girls for reason and for sanity
tear up this propaganda vanity
be yourselves and break the habit
be a bunny girl not a freakin rabbit
ditch the salad bin the chart
Declare today a brand new start
ugly is as ugly does as spoken by the media buzz
today take back your sass and bounce
cause your all woman each gorgeous ounce
men admit it for gods sake
there's nothing **** bout a rake
women should live for more than style
so come on sweetheart chin up... and smile
now let your heart and soul start humming
and as for boys.....
Keep em' comming
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
Am I pretty?
I try really hard
To be what they call pretty
Pretty is:
Skinny, But not anorexic
Makeup, But not to much
**** But not a ****
I do it to be accepted
So I'm not alone
I just want to fit in
I want to be pretty
But,
I'm no model
People forget, there's no Photoshop in real life
But...
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
It's okay.
The more you envy the photos,
the more ********
the more negativity,
the more stupidity you are fed;
Because you are sautéd in a lie.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
Why is this world so pretentious
self-centered, building up your fences
Gotta take the prettiest picture
Photoshop for the best features
Your looks are all you care about
Your fake little words, and perfect pout
Well? are you happy now?
You seem to be, I wonder how?
Your powders and plastic
To me it's just tragic.
If this is the fate of the world
With saggy-pants and barbie-girls
I'd rather be six feet under
What will become of you, I wonder
When your looks fade
You've lost your trade
High school's bound to end
Will those shallow people remain your friend?
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
#28 | 31 Poems for August
I’m slowly falling apart, but all I can think about, is holding the pieces of your broken heart together.
You are the rain I keep dancing in and I see no use in being under an umbrella.
I’ve somehow forgotten the lyrics of my favourite love song.
Slowly sing with me and help me remember.
All I want to do is help you appreciate love’s panoramic view.
All I want to do is know you better and move closer to you.
There are millions of poems and words, but none can explain my love for you.
Give me something that I can hold on to.
Give me something that cannot be defined.
Help me build up my faith when I’ve lost the spirit to believe.
Provide my lungs with sufficient air to breathe.
Show me the pictures of you that haven’t been Instagram-filtered or tainted with Photoshop.
Teach me how to slow dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat.
I’m less interested in seeing you “dropping it like it’s hot” or showing me all the bad things that you’re not.
Let me be more than just words for you.
Let me be more than just hands that long to embrace you.
Let me be someone you can relate to.
Someone your family and friends would love to be introduced to.
Someone who can find the hidden words in your silence.
Let me be the peace that heals your wounds of violence.
Let me be the piece that completes your complex puzzle.
You are everything to me.
If only you could realise that, if only you could see.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
I'm calling you out
Of my mind
Manifest yourself
Come on, blow up in my face
To the:
Bombshell
With the short fuse
I'll be your Molotov cocktail
You be my fiery muse
I keep seeing your face
In sepia torn scenery
In the art of my dreams
trying to photoshop reality
To the:
Dream Girl
With her totem locked
I'll join you in a free fall
As I violently shake back awake
Alone
So it goes...
You're dancing my imagination
Heart-beating my soul
Tango of illumination
I felt your grace
In telepathic foreplay
My little mind-fu©k
life's stranger than fantasy
To the:
Princess,
Crowned in roses
I'll savor you as a Goddess
When you open your sweet blossom
So it goes...
You're dancing my imagination
Heart-beating my soul
Tango of illumination
Fire of my *****
Rising up my spine
We could be enlightenment-to-be
Like Nirvana
Come on blow my mind
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
When we devote our heart to what
phases and appalls us,
we leave no room in our hearts and
sit alone waiting on the people of our
dreams.
So many times we take morality and
mold it into our sculpture of opinion.
We take the image of the natural beauty
our friends arrive to take us and photoshop
beauty queens, anorexic girls, naked men,
and clear skinned bashful humans.
We look the way we do,
but we’re not done yet.
Split ends are the representation of a
woman who works hard to earn her
dream and live her destiny one day.
A teenager with blemishes enters the
school doors and cracks quirky jokes
and makes an eight grade girl laugh;
she who is fourteen and feels no inferiority
despite her flat chest and gap tooth.
He is not the fat boy who everybody loves,
he is a human being and is here for the same
reason any model,
rockstar,
dancer,
athlete,
actor,
and Olympian is here
today.
Can we look the way we do and feel as if
we need no photoshop on what is really on
us?
It’s all about
what is
in us.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
Be happy alone (but be happier with a man).
Be sad, (but don't show it).
Be stupid, be smart, fall for all of our plots.
Be this! Be that! Be YOU!
(Be just unique enough that you are just like our other 1,000,000 readers).
Laugh a lot with your perfectly straight teeth.
(Don't let them see the stains from the acid that creeps).
Lose it, curb it, fight it, crunch it, boost it, control it.
**** him, tease him, **** him, blow his mind
(but don't be a **** because nobody likes a stupid ****
You're not wearing the right jeans,
You're not wearing the right shirt,
(But they'd probably look better if you followed these steps to lose 5 pounds in 5 days)
((and dyed and cut your hair))
(((and put your makeup on just right)))
love yourself (just enough to lose yourself,)
because then,
then you are on the path to improvement.
you are one step closer to that
(hand selected, perfectly manicured, potentially, possibly, probably starving)
model,
(who is still not quite good enough to make it without photoshop).
Because Kate Moss tells me,
“Nothing taste's as good as skinny feels,”
and maybe she's right.
Because this fat doesn't sit quite right,
it lumps and bumps. It muffin tops.
It's sloppy, I'm lazy, I eat too much
Maybe I should cut my carbs
and meat
(and everything in between)
Because my size 8 self is plus size to the ones that control my mind.
Because to be a plus is really a negative,
and to be a zero really means that I'm a ten.
Because to be skinny is to succeed.
And to succeed is to win.
And winning is all part of the system, right?
So, yes Cosmo, I'll pluck and shave.
I'll flirt and curl
I'll cut and count
I'll smile and cry
I'll **** and blow
I'll smoke my eyes and cover up my zits
I'll use my mirror to photoshop out every flaw that makes me beautiful
and maybe, maybe someday I'll be just as lifeless as the girls in your magazine.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 9:49 AM UTC