"poptart" poems
Gurl stops meking out
n asked boi to get potartz
he dus
den gurl teks deep breff
and gurl sais
bf
I am pregnent
will u stay ma bf
n he seys
"NO"
gurl iz hertbrokn
gurl cried n runz awaii from boi wiffout eatin poptart
n she has low blood suga
so she fols
boi runs ova 2 her
She Ded
boi crie
I sed I no be ur bf
cuz i wona b ur husband!
he screems
n frows poptart @ wol
a bootiful diomand ring wus insyd
LIK DIS IF U CRY EVERTIM!!!!
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
Life is
A s'mores poptart
No matter the conditions
Or the temperature, it will always be a poptart
And it will always be delicious
The gooey insides
Melt in your mouth when warm.
The crusty top
Provides a nice crunch, but once on the inside,
Things are best
But once it is gone.
It is gone forever.
Cherish your poptart
You never know when it will be the last in the box
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
I was out wit me doopas.
I was wailin' on a massive blunt.
Feet up, eased up, havin' a blem time.
All of a sudd'n, de fuzz comes out front.
There's nowhere to hide.
Gotta rid the scene of me stuff.
Look back and de fuzz ain't der.
Decide to take one last puff.
De sirens start shriekin'
Dey're almost here, no where to go.
Do I stick me sliff in de ground?
I stuff it up me nose.
Sense of smell is lost from de heat.
Feels like a fresh poptart was squeezed in me snout.
De burning tingles, very bad, very bad.
About to cry when de cops see me, no time to shout.
He walks a little closer, I cringe.
An island bwai wouldn't last in prison
For de love of Zion, don't get caught.
Finally we're face-to-face, I start pissin'
De man looks down at de pool of ****
He asks, "that's the hiding spot you chose?"
He rips da spliff rite outta me snout.
Dat's why you never stuff it up ya nose.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
As my father lay,
passed out in his chair
with whiskey nursing his dead heart
and healing his origami wrists
My sister and I's stomaches ache with hunger
I sacrifice my last piece of poptart to her
and pray to make it till my mother comes home
She crashes into the door
An alarm for my father harmonizes in a disastrous symphony
He dashes out the door for the next shift
Leaving my mother, crying after seeing the mess and her children passed out by the empty fridge
Her grease burnt arms scrub the wine covered coffee table
Until red stains turn pink and empty cigarette packs fill the trash
She picks up a glass and fills it with wine
and drinks away the memories until everything is warm
Thus continues the cycle
Money sparse, bills unpaid, cupboards nearly bare
Two parents whose love had been infested with addiction and depression
stemming from broken, abusive homes and even more abusive past relatioships
Leaving two children in the destruction of constant fighting which led to divorce
The eldest following her mother's footsteps of constant abuse and taking on her father's pain with origami wrists to match
The youngest never bounced back, a brick wall built from years of silence left her permanently mute. Every day she drifts further and further away from reality and lives in her fantasy world.
Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 2:15 AM UTC
Bonnie squeals as the cart soars past various boxes of cereals and granola bars. She glances at her brother, Clyde, expecting him to share her fright, but is bewildered to see that he is thrashing about in a fit of giggles, enjoying the thrill of the ride. Knuckles white as snow, Bonnie's frail little fingers grasp the side of the red cart with all of their might as her eyes clamp shut. Her heart beats faster than the speed of light, and she questions her motives for agreeing to Clyde's devilish ways.
She reminisces on their earlier arrival at the Local Target. They had come with their mother, planning to do a little grocery shopping and then be on their way. Of course, Clyde had schemed up a way to stray from his mother's side unnoticed. Bonnie still can't fathom how he managed to drag her down with him.
Cautiously, wind whipping through her hair, Bonnie peaks one eye open and instantly regrets it. She let's out an ear - piercing howl as the cart thrusts into a mountain of PopTart boxes large enough to be deemed the Empire State Building's father. She crawls out of the heap only to be met by an eruption of heartfelt laughter spewing from her brother's mocking lips. "You should have seen your face!" Clyde teases as Bonnie sends daggers through his skull.
The two troublemakers step out of the cart and attempt to retrace the way back to their mother. Devastated, they come to the conclusion that the aisles now resemble a maze. As they confidently take on this new challenge and make their way through the unknown, their spirits quickly take a downward spiral upon realizing that they have ended up back where they began. Tired and desperately longing to go home, the two siblings reach a clearing past the aisles and are overjoyed to spy their mother waiting patiently in line at a register with a new cart in hand.
Bonnie and Clyde casually lazy on over to their mother's side and make light conversation as if they had never left.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
david bowie sang space oddity in two different channels: one high pitched on the left side and one low pitched on the right side. the result is more harmonious than a poptart flying out of a toaster oven. the advertisements for poptarts always show gooey goodness in the middle when in reality it's crumbly crap. why is the word "crap" more acceptable than **** why are profanities on a spectrum, and not just this black/white state of good/bad? is it better that way?
maybe i'm rambling at this point; maybe i'm more incomprehensible than conceptual art. either way, i am an either/or blank anti-yes?
how many question marks finish this sentence???
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 9:25 AM UTC
You are my favorite passenger
my driver through tired eyes
You are my Nebraska rest stop lover
and the morning kiss in the tent.
You make my lips curl to a smile
and dance along your face.
You are the lime in my corona
and the clank to my bottle.
You are not my smores poptart
more like my layered dip
You're my backseat snoozer
and my cutest cuddle duddle
My late night fisherman
and my serving counterpart
You're my badlands baby cakes
You fill up my heart
You fill up my heart
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 1:07 PM UTC
Splattered in concrete like decent ommissions
Like ethereal gods
Like rotted pine and faulty seeds
Like withered lungs & crusty pig ****
Like laughing dogs and cunty cats
Like frolicking lilyhammers
Like ****** bullmen
Like sexless libras
Like tight stewardess *** in the 90s
Like a poptart tomorrow
Like the last liberal
Conservative
Connected to the wifi
Take a stige
And laugh
Why not lol
Ok
Ok ok
This is like myself
Sep 10, 2023
Sep 10, 2023 at 4:47 AM UTC
perhaps today i'll get out of bed.
perhaps today i'll eat breakfast other than
a stale poptart or
an old granola bar.
perhaps today i'll speak to someone
other than in choked whispers ending in silent tears
or angry screams ending in sobs.
perhaps today i'll write something down
instead of letting it ricochet around my head
for weeks
before forgetting i even thought of it.
perhaps today i'll stop painting myself
the hero
in an entirely made up reality
when i am in fact the villain of my story
trapping myself in a paper cage
filled with my own words.
perhaps.
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 11:27 AM UTC