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.

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

Ramblings about things I like and things I don’t

(because I have the time to write and I have been asking myself what I really like or want.)

I dislike

things about the modern society sometimes -- like how some people are trapped by their self imposed sense of success driven by their greed and selfishness since they only seems to look out for the wellbeing of themselves. There seems to be something disturbing about the city somehow though I cannot point it out exactly what that makes me feel uncomfortable but perhaps it is the perfect street and buildings all over like a factory manner.

I like

places without the perfect street and buildings and I want to have an adventure and live like going to Cambodia and India to learn about their culture and help some kids there. There I will be rich in experience and purpose and laugh at how sometimes I take things for granted or my own self imposed narrow point of view about the world at large.

I dislike

stereotyping and how human judge people based on external stuff like looks, race or background but I suspect it is our nature as humans to put things into label like marketing or something. Placing labels on someone's appearance or race or anything else alone ***** and stereotypes are disgusting. Take some time to look beyond the surface -- labels are meant for can soup. There is no point having a beautiful façade on the surface but empty in the inside.

I like

beautiful minds, people that are comfortable with themselves despite their imperfection and people being who they are despite it may goes against the norms of society and I think gays are bold (though I am not gay or something), they defeat their insecurities and conquer their inner demons on how people look at them.

I dislike

how cheesy pop music is at times and prefer words that touch me and lyrics that mean more than just about ******, stupid heartbreak or explicit things.

I like

words that make give me inner hope and a will to continue to walk or beautifully written and something that inspire or I can relate to. Perhaps occasionally books that make my heart break a little with a rush of emotion -- even it is somebody's tale or not true but I love the passion of it all.

I like

art. Art that have a story and meaning behind them and not just random models on the cover of the magazines with too much makeup and too much photoshop with the focus on just looks alone.

I like

to take photos of random things and the simple beautiful around us that many of us fail to see and honest heart to heart conversation with a few close friends in a homely environment instead of a big crowd of acquaintance.

I dislike

how some people cannot seem to understand something unless you push it right in their faces, when someone is only nice to me when they need something or just keep up with the appearance which is stupid.

I dislike

each other's' masks and the need to decipher the feelings beyond the masks without being told what it is specifically, people with ******* up beliefs of what is right and wrong and those who can be easily manipulated and people that manipulate them for their own benefit.

I like

beautifully hand crafted items and non factory made stuff. They are one of a kind yet sometimes I can be a walking contradiction and I do like man-made things because once in a while it gives an artificial glint of happiness and if you lost it or break it, you can always have a new one.

I dislike this world.
I like this world.

I want to live in a world with things that bring me a simple glimpse of joy and perhaps that is all I wish to ask for.

Dye the ***** water with contaminates:
                         Blue #1,
                                                  and Sucralose, too.

Bend over to spray
                         the rotting road-**** 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!

i’ve been photoshopping old memories in attempts to bring back color to over-faded, twice-forgotten black-and-whites
tried dodge and burn but that’s too close to what happened
you dodged so i burned like a stack of photographs and albums in a house fire started by christmas lights
maybe if i crop myself out you’ll turn bright again
until your whole face washes out and i can feel like you’re a stranger again
replace all your blues with harsh reds and sharpen all of my blurred edges
for a while things felt like polaroids,
instant results
but then i realized that i was just wasting film by taking one photo per roll at a time
i was ruining prints of thirty five other potential moments
we were never digital
but we were only ever digitalized,
conversations only spent on snapchat and half-second smiles in hallways
i’ll layer all of our photographs
because we sure as hell never had layers then
your smile is the same in every single one of them, but my expression is always off and my eyes are never quite the same level of jaded
somewhere along the line i’ve realized that no photographic evidence was ever taken of our life
i’m just looking at bad sketches with too many filters
i don’t even remember the sound of your voice
i’m writing poetry about strangers again,
people who have never existed outside of my head
maybe that’s just a bad coping mechanism, pretending that you’re just pretend
but i’ve been struggling with hallucinations lately
because photographs and light and sound is so **** easy to bend into whatever shapes you want memories to take
i haven’t trusted myself for three years now and i’m not about to start
overconfidence leads to the edges of cliffs
and i’m all too familiar with the steep drop of the ravine
when did photographs of you become a foreign language to me?
when did i stop recognizing either of us? why can’t i look myself in the eye anymore?
photoshop steals the life from my laptop battery
and reminiscing on things that may or may not have actually happened steals energy from me
so i’ll try to see if we can forcefully power down this crooked old machine
unplug me
i don’t want these memories saved anymore
delete everything
delete everything
unplug me
delete me
delete me

She was
fascinated by the way the beard floated across his face and disappeared without a trace into his ears and thought it was a camera trick.

The camera doesn't lie is a lie, though we still believe what we can see,no longer polaroid the humanoid is now devoid of all reality,
the photoshopper shops and crops,lops the tops and bottoms of his pics,sticks in bits that don't belong,digitised, giving verbal to the lies in view and finding few who disagree with the elements,reformed and shaped, the new caped crusader,tints,tone raider,
I saw Douglas Bader with two legs but peg a negative and hold your tongue,I like to watch the colours run on the drip dry line,processing time.
I don't like the fact that numbers attacked this art in forms of decimals it makes us vegetables
relying on the cut and crop of photoshop must stop.

I told her that it was no trick,he had the beard but the camera was sick,she listened to me in disbelief and from her briefcase took out a camera and snapped a picture of his face,
and now I'm fascinated in a way as to whether we can photoshop a rainy day and turn it into something good
I wonder if we could or not,must
take a look at
photoshop.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Come on girls
Let's cut & paste
Because our skin is shame
With rib cages small enough to break
And powder that can only cover so much

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

We need to stop
And see
You and me
We photoshop
The whole catastrophe
The life of you
The life of me
Why do we deny
Reality
It will end soon
And be gone
Back to the place
Where dreams come from

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.

Why do we strive to be something we're not? Why do girls wish they were tall, tan, skinny and blonde? Why do we alter our bodies to make sure we look a certain way? Because that's what the TV, magazines, movies, and models all tell us is beautiful. The media's definition of beauty is a skinny girl with mile-long legs, big ***** and an amazing ***, all topped off with perfectly tanned skin, a flawless complexion, long flowing tresses, big, **** smouldering eyes and wonderfully plump lips. But in all honesty, what are the odds of someone looking like this with absolutely no surgical alterations to their body? Slim, my friend. It PAINS me to see so many girls try to attain this level of "beauty" that is so accepted by our society. The medial has such influence in our lives, and unfortunately, we listen. We think that their definition of beauty is right and attainable and "We can look just like celebrities with the help of THIS special product!" I wish I didn't see ten year-old girls already trying so hard. They're wearing barely-even-there shorts, low tops that reveal nothing but a flat chest, hair that's already been dyed, makeup that's way too heavy, and they do this because they think they'll be pretty if they look like the ******* the cover of Seventeen Magazine. "If I look like her then maybe my crush will finally notice me and think I'm beautiful!"
Sweetie, you're ten. Stop trying and go have fun. I want to climb somewhere up high and have every single female in the world as my audience, no matter what their age, listening to my voice. I would tell them to ignore our society's definition of beauty because it's just WRONG. You're GORGEOUS the way you are! Don't change that! How can we try to look like the girls on magazines when they're photoshopped so much that they're hardly recognizable? That is fake beauty - that's the kind made by a team of expert bullshitters. They photoshop and photoshop until they are happy with the beautiful monster they have created. They do this to make all the girls look "better." Why does she need to look better if she's already perfect how God made her? There's no way we can possibly look like those girls, because what you see on the cover, isn't what's there in real life. But why do we still try to look like them even if we know the truth about the team of magazine editors? Because we're not happy. We're not satisfied. We're not content with ourselves physically, so maybe if we try harder to look "better," we'll feel better about ourselves. Now don't get me wrong, I don't see anything wrong with doing things like working out, eating right, and taking care of yourself physically so that you feel feel better about yourself and gain confidence. But where so many women and girls go wrong is they abuse the things that help you improve your overall health or looks. They try so hard to fit a certain stereotype that doing these things eventually becomes unhealthy. There is no amount of throwing up, exercising, or eating like a  bird that will give you confidence. That comes from within. That comes from being happy with yourself and how you look. When we finally accept the woman God created each of us to be, then that confidence will follow soon after. We have to accept the fact that God made us the way we are for a reason. I am made in God's image - I am fearfully and wonderfully made. We are ALL made in God's glorious image and we are ALL fearfully and wonderfully made. So stop trying to change your looks. You weren't meant to look like the girls on the magazines. You were meant to look like YOU. And honey, lemme tell ya: you're gorgeous. So embrace not just your outer beauty, but your inner beauty as well. At the end of the day, looks will fade, but personality is something you're stuck with forever. So make sure that you can stand to be around yourself. And don't let the media and society dictate how you should look - don't buy their lies. God is absolutely in love with YOU. He loves you - not the media's twisted, altered version of you. We were all made uniquely, so let's embrace our unique beauty. Let the world's view and opinions bounce off you, their lies reaching deaf ears. You don't need them. You need to look in the mirror, see God's handiwork and appreciate it. He loves you more than you could ever fathom, and guess what? Impurities and all, God still thinks you are soooo beautiful. And in the end, His opinion is the only one that really matters.

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!

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.

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

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

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 *****?

Dear Abba,
    
      To spiritually photoshop, or not to spiritually photoshop: that is a recurring question. I’ve gotten pretty good at cropping and resizing to keep an impressive façade, but the emptiness behind it is the telling thing, telling me that something about the life I’m living is off the tracks. I’m not the biggest fan of mirrors but I realize they do serve a purpose: showing me the reality, the real me. I’m a ragamuffin, always have been, and yet You love me, the real me. Amazing.

Genius comes with revision
Like the way the best line in a poem delivers an emotional punch
That can't be described, only recreated
By other poets with their sharply focused emotions filtered through words like a camera lens.
Take your poem and photoshop it. Add in blurred edges for
Vagueness. Adjust for context.
Revise, revise again.
I want to revise the way I feel about you
Put it aside like a short story and return in a month with a red pen to make corrections
Love is for people who can't focus
Love is for people with bad photoshop skills
Who keep moving the eraser tool over and over your picture but can't seem to make you fade away
And the images are saved to a permanent file in my heart's hard drive
I want to delete the way I feel about you
It's the wrong extension, and a more experienced photographer would know not to make this kind of stupid mistake
Don't let your emotions get in the way of a good picture
Don't let a good picture get in the way of a major revision
Hold the pen in your hand and deliver an emotional punch
I want to punch the way I feel about you
Crossing you out in every stanza
Until revision makes me a genius
A poem with red lines over my heart.

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.

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.

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

I know this doesn't get me any promises of forgiveness, and I know how much things have been a mess lately and I refused to deal with it. But there are things I should have said instead of counter-arguing and berating you.

I've forgotten to tell you how I've been so excited to learn coding because I like to think it gets me a little closer to you, maybe even lets me understand you a bit more.

I've forgotten to tell you how though I have trouble sleeping having you beside me really comforts me, and though its beyond creepy I'll look at you to feel better.

I've forgotten to tell you how I love going to the movies with you, and hearing you get excited and involved in the story, and its like you forget all your school troubles for awhile, something I seem to have forgotten to do.

I've forgotten to tell you how I'm stupidly afraid to ask you to do things, like kiss you til we're dizzy, giggle til our cheeks hurt, or have really good *** (thought about that a lot today, but I was too much of a ******* to say something).

I've forgotten to tell you that you light up my day, and though I'm a moody ******* even just being around you helps. I know I don't act like it, but it does, so I need to get some ***** and just ask you on a date like a middle schooler and get that out of the way.

I've forgotten to tell you how I started a new novel, and that my mood diary has been going up lately in moods. That I was really hoping that at least my time with you next week won't be so bad.

I've forgotten to tell you that I want us to play mass effect, even if it means I'll swoon over Garrus half the time. I promise all my kisses are reserved by you.

I've forgotten to tell you how worried I've been for you, about your friends being more distant. I've been trying to just let you do whatever, at my own expense. Alone time is great (especially for these poems and homework and figuring out that new novel) but I should have been more open about it. Communication is key, especially for us, and I should have been more open about things.

I've forgotten to tell you how afraid I've been of being lost without you after next fall, but I just need to get my ***** in place and enjoy my time with you. Its silly to ruin time you have for some separation in the future.

I've forgotten to tell you that you look so **** sometimes, but I don't want to bother you because I know school worries you. And I know that goes with the bad communication stuff again, and I need to get my **** together, because I know you wouldn't mind a **** time or two.

I've forgotten to tell you that I really love horror movies, especially bad ones, and I really love Photoshop, and I really love tech at the moment, and I really love Diablo 3, and I really love spending time with you and yes I agree alone time is good and I shouldn't get angsty at bad times and make you think I never want you alone. I need to get my afraid bar to cool its rollers.(PS that's my new favorite phrase) You are my favorite person and I should and want to tell you everything. I need to get this together.

I've forgotten to tell you I've been trying to lose weight again, less because I hate myself and more because I want to look hotter for you, and have been eating less sweets and less food in general.

I've forgotten to tell you I want to learn to make paper cranes and watch gargoyles and be more in-tune with you. I'll watch Super Troopers, I'll even watch Master in Disguise, if you truly want to. I can't just say no to everything you want to do together. Why? Because if I always say no to together things, you'll start always doing them alone.

I've forgotten to tell you that your scruff is adorable and its kinda hot you're a little taller and your hair is beautiful. That I love goofiness and tickles and nose kisses and **** grabs and making you smile. I know I've messed things up but I want to all I can in my power to get it together, because you are special. You once told me you were like a shooting star and hard to catch and I rolled my eyes, but you are. I love you and have never met someone like you before.

I've forgotten to share my stories and my life and all the things that made you love me and even me love me, and I'm going to fix that. I will not sit by and let you forget me.

One last thing.

I've forgotten to tell you I love you oodles, and that will never change.

Streets filled with bodies
Dead or alive
Nobody knows
Blood runs through the streets
Like floodwater
Innocent blood
Flows like runoff
Through concrete veins
But only because we let it happen
Because of judgement
Because of ignorance
Because of prejudice
Prejudice that we carry over
From our predecessors
The violence and hatred of our ancestors
Continues on through us
But only because we let it happen
Because our naïveté lets us see the world
As monochrome
Everyone belongs in one solid genome
Straight white cis
So they lock us up in a cage of exile
Invalidate the opinions that don't sit well
On a stomach full of lies
So we stand in solid lines
Hands locked together
Silently screaming
NO!
With the ******* hidden in their claims
It hurts but the pain isn't enough to break our chains
At least until the weakest link caves
And the flood gates open up
Our nerves sting with rubber bullets and tear gas
Police brutality and 'controversial' crowd control tactics
Resulting in the blood of innocents.

The truth comes out
Oppression
Recession
We deliver new life
Spoon feeding democracy
Cookie cutter
Build your own government kits
Follow the instructions with a gun held to your head
Puppet government
Corporations pulling strings
Calling the shots with a mouthful of greed
Blaming tragedy on street rats with golden teeth
Hiding behind business suits and briefcases
Pay no attention to the man behind the curtains
Take part in the rat race
Get distracted by the fast pace
Pay attention to your own **** problems
And forget to see the big picture.

Another ride on the metro
Catcalls and wolf whistles
To the wrist to the neck to the ankle
I'm breaking the dress code
The double standards are air tight and unbreakable
I'm stuck in the choke hold of the patriarchy
Kicking and screaming
Perverts jacking off to the sight of me
Objectified, and only fourteen
Take precautions stay safe
Because we have reason to be afraid of the dark
When we have to assume that everyone is a ******
The world is out to get us
Plaguing the younger generation with pop music and photoshop
Shellshocked by the devastation of self confidence
Short hair means you're a ****
Long hair means you're property
The American dream is four walls a roof and a wife to call your own
To own
****** assault is normality
I'm appalled at the way my peers think I owe them something
My virginity
My body
I'm not a carcass to be picked clean by vultures:
The beasts who sit next to me
Who view me as a threat because I'm intelligent
A ***** because I'm intolerant to their ignorance and oppression
The gender roles and discrimination
Objectification
A one woman war
That every woman faces.

Hopelessness stands at the alter
Spouting discrimination
Dug from the depths of the bible
New age bigotry
Picket signs versus pride parades
Spot the queer in the crowd
Wipe them out
We are not a virus of humanity
Your hateful words aren't the only thing that cuts me
When coming out equates to ear splitting arguments
"Get out of my house"
"you are not my son"
LGBT blood on the streets
****** of trans teens
Pop culture is enemy to androgyny
*** education skips over me
And change is met with board meetings
Conservative parents complaining
Claiming they know better than the mouths they feed
Age is not a crown of wisdom
The 21st century witch hunt
Discrimination spills from the mouths
Of little Hitlers
Screaming "God hates ****" before they know what the words mean
Wrap my coffin in a rainbow flag
When they find my mangled body on the street
The product of a hate crime
The product of the war I'm fighting
Brittle bones riddled with stab wounds
Every one carries weight with the words they were paired with
Queer
***
******
I don't have invisible amour
The words pierce me in a way that can't be seen
My blood leaks silently and joins the masses.


We are a generation so full of hatred
Promised so much that wasn't delivered
And so we raise our hands and salute the mother ******* rebellion
Our sweet saving grace
America isn't free and neither are we
We are slaves to misogyny and bigotry
Police brutality
Crafty government puppetry
Patriarchy
The enemies that we face aren't the ones we see
Well **** society
We can create our own
Carry in the revolution on our shoulders
On our knees
Plastered across our twitter feeds
We fight with words
With fists
Whatever it takes
Speak out across our dashboards timelines and comments
Word of mouth
Engrave them into your skin
What was started needs to be finished
We have a price to pay



It's time for a revolution *****.

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...

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?