"poses" poems
On the third of June, at a minute past two,
where once was a person, a flower now grew.
Five daisies arranged on a large outdoor stage
in front of a ten-acre pasture of sage.
In a changing room, a lily poses.
At the DMV, rows of roses.
The world was much crueler an hour ago.
I'm glad someone decided to give flowers a go.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
How do you taste a woman?
Do you let your breath
Take over her skin
Or do you,
Gently
Uncover
Her treacherous,
Deceitful, delightful touch?
Do you take her sight for granted,
As if it was yours to own,
As if she would
Never vanish,
Or do you know
She's nothing more
Than a chimera on a wall,
Than Clotho's spinning thread
In an ancient story of forgiveness...
Do you trust her soft and humid body,
Like a silky cloth soaked in
Spicy peppermint oil,
Or do you fear
Her lips
As if they'll
Harm the pulse
Of your easily grown
Desire for all that she has enchanted?
Do you let her fingers linger
Somewhere in between
The locks of hair,
As they were
Her only to poses,
And make them come alive
Like serpents shadows on a desert's moonlight?
All in all, a woman cannot be
Taken for granted,
As she isn't there
Only because
You see her
Near.
No.
A woman is
A passing shadow
For your mesmerized vision.
A woman is that summer rain
On your heated body,
Or that devastating
Storm on a
Moroccan
Desert.
She is both
Dust and wind,
Love and hatred,
Hope and despair.
She is nothing more
Than clear, cold water.
So drink the woman
As you taste
Water
Turned
Into good wine
And tell me, stranger...
How do you taste a woman?
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
Come to a garden of roses with me,
Serene it is fuller with roses to see,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
We shall not try to pluck any roses,
For the thorns dissuade any poses,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
We can't sit guarding the flowers,
Very busy in our mini lives we're,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
*I'll set-up a flaming ring of fire,
Seeking fine protection for them,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.*
Let's care for the roses as if our,
As if our little & young children,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
To help us get them blue & red,
Give them all suitable nutrition,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
Their presence is eye-pleasing,
We let them be in our garden,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 1:52 AM UTC
Gangsta
I'm the gangsta who can rap,
give me **** and on your face I'll crap.
I'm the gangsta who is white,
you all know my rhymes are tight.
I'm the gangsta who calls the shots,
inside my head are tiny blood clots.
I'm the gangsta who will kick your ***
show me respect, or I'll take you to class.
I'm the gangsta who does no wrong,
only the good stuff, goes into my big ****
I'm the gangsta who needs no gun,
carrying a pen is much more fun.
I'm the gangsta loved by all,
black people call me the chosen cue ball.
I'm the gangsta who needs no posse,
hating people who are to **** bossy.
I'm the gangsta who poses no threat,
always broke and knee deep in debt.
I'm the gangsta who likes living,
never forgets, but sometimes forgiving.
I'm the gangsta who doesn't care,
walking around in my stained underwear.
I'm the gangsta who can't sing,
but if I bite, it will sting.
I'm the gangsta like no other,
if you don't believe, just ask my mother.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
Gangsta
I'm the gangsta who can rap,
give me **** and on your face I'll crap.
I'm the gangsta who is white,
you all know my rhymes are tight.
I'm the gangsta who calls the shots,
inside my head are tiny blood clots.
I'm the gangsta who will kick your ***
show me respect, or I'll take you to class.
I'm the gangsta who does no wrong,
only the good stuff, goes into my big ****
I'm the gangsta who needs no gun,
carrying a pen is much more fun.
I'm the gangsta loved by all,
black people call me the chosen cue ball.
I'm the gangsta who needs no posse,
hating people who are to **** bossy.
I'm the gangsta who poses no threat,
always broke and knee deep in debt.
I'm the gangsta who likes living,
never forgets, but sometimes forgiving.
I'm the gangsta who doesn't care,
walking around in my stained underwear.
I'm the gangsta who can't sing,
but if I bite, it will sting.
I'm the gangsta like no other,
if you don't believe, just ask my mother.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
Lovely mornings, evenings, nights our hearts took flight
Laughing ceased as sighs increased.
Wafts of sensual sweet smells rose.
Bodies, curved in writhing poses glowed.
Cares lost in arousing touch, lingering fingers longed for
Secrets, shared in sacred sighs and wanton lies.
Arching union quivered and quaked.
I whispered then and will again
Stilettos are not made for walking,
Their soul purpose, freeing our rising desires,
Feeding rapturous tinglings of sensual ecstasy.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
“Life was easier when I was young.” Was what my grandma used to say,
“We didn’t have all the problems that people have today.
All of this technology, it helps clutter our mind,
Without it we’d be much less stressed I think that you would find.”
I never used to understand how she could think that’s true,
It’s obvious computers have made life easier for me and you!
Just look around at all the incredible things available to man,
The most powerful technology that can fit in the palm of your hand!
We have Email, and iPods, and TV you can record!
We have every kind of website to peruse if you’re bored!
We have Netflix, and GPS, and don’t forget Smartphones,
And we can do all our shopping with a mouse click in our homes!
Things have gotten so convenient that it’s so hard for me to know,
How somebody could think life was easier many years ago.
But as I grow older, I now slowly begin to see,
The difficulties that were also invented along with technology.
We now have cybercrime, which poses a very real threat,
Credit card information gets stolen and you can be crippled with debt.
And all your personal information sits vulnerable on your home computer,
Hackers can easily break in and take it like a cybernetic looter.
There are too many channels on TV you feel like your mind could drown,
And people in the ‘50’s never had their DVR break down.
People had only one phone at home; no cellphones at all;
Nowadays, I hate that anyone at any time can give my cellphone a call.
We have an entire of world of problems that we never had before,
And with the pace that society is moving they’re impossible to ignore.
As I get older, all this convenience slowly seems less grand,
And when I think of what my grandma said, I finally understand.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
please be impatient with me for I am Female, Age 19 Please be impatient with me. Three quarters woman in a body, a quartered quartet. The crying viola, off tempo, present but unavailable. The boys want me. The men, more, more. The women most of all. The American Girl dolls on the shelf dusty, witnesses to all my demander’s impatience to take, to own, possess & desire my poses all to pleasure them, wanting many morsos (small bites).
Then, when discarded, my body reeks of
con-f u s i o n. A perfect conjugation, an imperfect conjunction; Conning my mind into letting my body be-fused.
The dolls weep real tears in the city of my mind; flipping out, they too, are impatient with me, and flip me off for they have no good words to express their utter chagrin.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
The ground
Vast and brown
Surrounds dry towns
Located in the dust
Of the coming locust
Live for survival, not for 'kicks'
Be a bangtail describer,
like of shrouded traveler
in Textile tenement & the birds fighting in yr ears-like Burroughs exact to describe & gettin $
The Angry Hunger
(hunger is anger)
who fears the
hungry feareth
the angry)
And so I came home
To Golden far away
Twas on the horizon
Every blessed day
As we rolled And we rolled
From Donner tragic Pass
Thru April in Nevada And out Salt City Way Into the dry Nebraskas And sad Wyomings Where young girls And pretty lover boys
With Mickey Mantle eyes
Wander under moons
Sawing in lost cradle
And Judge O Fasterc
Passes whiggling by To ask of young love: ,,Was it the same wind Of April Plains eve that ruffled the dress
Of my lost love
Louanna
In the Western
Far off night
Lost as the whistle
Of the passing Train
Everywhere West
Roams moaning
The deep basso
- Vom! Vom!
- Was it the same love
Notified my bones As mortify yrs now
Children of the soft
Wyoming April night?
Couldna been!
But was! But was!'
And on the prairie
The wildflower blows
In the night For bees & birds And sleeping hidden Animals of life.
The Chicago
Spitters in the spotty street
Cheap beans, loop, Girls made eyes at me And I had 35 Cents in my jeans -
Then Toledo
Springtime starry
Lover night Of hot rod boys And cool girls A wandering
A wandering
In search of April pain A plash of rain
Will not dispel This fumigatin hell Of lover lane This park of roses Blue as bees
In former airy poses
In aerial O Way hoses
No tamarand And figancine Can the musterand Be less kind
Sol -
Sol -
Bring forth yr Ah Sunflower - Ah me Montana
Phosphorescent Rose
And bridge in
fairly land
I'd understand it all -
11.1k
Speak African child, speak. for you poses a mouth that heals nations. It is in thine voice in the vibrations of thy mouth that remedies are provided to our ailments.
speak African child, speak. speak against the calamities that befall your land. speak against that hand that he dare raises against your bare skin. speak against the blood of your brothers spilled to please others.
Speak for Africa that is one and united, Africa that does not know of any racial divides. Africa that knows no skin colour. speak African child speak. for you are the voice of liberation. speak for your voice are the echoes of our ancestors.
child labour, human trafficking, child *********** school violence, femicides, suicides. and you say you see this not. African child where is your voice in all of this. doesn't that skin, that accent and ***** hair mark you as of African descent.
Speak African child speak for you bare the answers to our questions, you bare the sole of our history.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
She dances,
Alone.
In such grace and poise
Positioned in between the tallest buildings
And she poses
For the camera
The bright flashes
Or on stage
In the spotlight
Twirling and twisting
Not a hair out of place
Not a step out of line
Not a breath unplanned
Trained to be accurate
Self destructing, but so well collected
The most beautiful dancer the world has ever seen.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:57 AM UTC
I want to travel the world . Travel the lands without mysterious waves and hidden shakes . Greet a person with a smile and share each other lessons about life. I want touch feel a mystic river and uncover a hidden truth within me . Breath airs of free warfare . No anarchy, no kings , no leaders to tell you where you must eat. People always search for power but not I . I search kin ,chakra a energy that I already poses. I feel the world it's full of bad energy . It sadden me. The wisdom of mother-nature is dying with city clouds.
The greed of money spins the world now - Rosendo Dominguez thoughts
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
Raised to believe what you are told
sometimes they didn't get it right
Beneath the muck and mire reveal
true to life issues with consequences
Fact checks confirm what we all know
however the need to triple check remains
The CORE VALUES we poses make us
who we are and build our character
Days by day we seek to stay connected
to friends, business colleagues & family
Have we lost touch with the personal
affect of shaking hands and saying hello?
Face to face and not only by computer screen,
fax or twitter. Keeping it real and honest,
telling it strait with confidence every time
Deep within my core, I value; GOD, family,
good friends, hard work, peace and love.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 5:28 AM UTC
(Pompeii/Florence, 1997)
Vulcan was real, alive as you were,
you and your language, long dead now.
Your town was prosperous, with its paved streets,
bars, bath-houses, brothels,
mosaics, painted walls, graffiti.
Your domestic gods too were real to you;
they had saved you before,
and when the superhuman hammer blows shook
your houses, you repaired them,
decorated in greater splendour,
erected a temple to your protectors.
But Vulcan was not appeased - years are not long
to the lord of earth and fire.
This time he struck swiftly, sending you death
from his mountain, overwhelming you
as you ran. Your garden
gave you no protection,
hot fumes choked you,
hot ash surrounded you,
sealed in your tomb as you died.
The ones who excavated your town
marvelled at its completeness,
and in the ash that filled your garden
they found hollows.
Filling the hollows with plaster,
they found . . . not you,
but echoes of yourselves,
like statues in a museum.
We came to see you, and after that
to the Academy, standing in awe
at David's perfect marble humanity.
But we were troubled by the others,
the uncompleted ones, the Prisoners,
their twisted limbs, hidden faces,
frozen in the act of emerging
from the stone, recalling too painfully
in their unfinished creation
your own agonised poses
as you died.
*"I had seen birth and death,
but had thought they were different."*
.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
Every year is the same,
same people,
same places,
same time,
same faces.
They bring me their labeled tickets,
the same ugly tan-colored, black-inked tickets.
Bent and smudged as if it went through their wash.
No time for conversation,
not even small talk,
only the same old.... hello.
They sit, they smile, they leave.
They sit,
on that same old boring brown box,
"Feet placed where the red exes are please."
You think they'd already know that by now.
They smile,
tilting their head to the right,
their eyes looking directly at the lens,
looking as if they were hypnotized.
They leave,
the camera flashes bringing them back to realization,
they release their breath,
"Goodbye!" They say,
"Have a nice day!" They say.
Who I wanted to be is who I am not today,
who I wanted to be is not where society has placed me,
who I wanted to be is what society calls a joke,
who I wanted to be is free.
A photographer.
Not here working for life touch taking pictures of the same bland faces,
I imagined myself... flying,
Like a bird traveling around the world,
Capturing every moment I see,
Where the natural light glistens across the landscape,
where i can direct the poses of my subject.
But instead,
i'm stuck here taking pictures for life touch
of the same people,
at the same places,
of the same faces.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC
Lisbeth stands watching
The artist as he prepares
To sketch. Her elder sisters
Stand in shadows whispering.
Her younger sister plays
With her doll on the floor.
Their father said to do as
The artist instructed and
Don’t misbehave or be rude.
The artist stares hard his
Dark eyes searching their
Every move and expression
And body gesture. The elder
Girls mutter in shadows
Their hands over their mouths
Their blue eyes like shallow
Pools. Ready? The artist
Asks putting charcoal to
Paper his fingers blackening.
Lisbeth says just as we are?
The artist nods. His grim
Features express do not disturb.
The youngest sister plays
Ignoring the artist her eyes set
On the game at hand. The girls
In shadow turn their profiles
Set to mystery their hands on
Their abdomens like guardians
Of virtue. Lisbeth wonders as
She watches the artist’s stiff
Moustache and beard the slow
Movement of his mouth as he
Mouths words and stares hard.
The last artist employed some
Year before younger and less
Brutal in expression and manner
Had drawn them each in private
Rooms and set them down on couch
Or bed and kept their images inside
His head. He was dismissed and the
Drawings destroyed and nothing said.
Lisbeth had thought it just a game
Something done as lover might in
Private corners or lonely spots on
Quiet nights. The artist sketches.
His blackened fingers move and
Made their mark. Their images
Captured. The scene set. One sister
In the shadows yawns the other
Stares in still contempt. Lisbeth
Poses as young girls do. Nothing
To show of interest and nothing
Hid no secret self no other you.
That’s it the artist says we’ll begin
The painting another day maybe
Next week if all is well. The girls
In shadow look away and resume
Their secret games. Lisbeth studies
The artist’s blackened fingers as
He rolls the charcoal sketch and
Puts away. He gazes at her standing
By herself a glimpse of smile and
Glimmer in her eyes like small fires.
He closes the tired lids of eyes
And smoulders down his old desires.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 8:26 AM UTC
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
Ye, champagne and roses,
A bag full of poses,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
From London to Denver,
you're glowing my ember,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
I know that you're fluffy,
You're cute and you're puffy
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
The sun is a-shining,
The silver a-lining,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
The moon is a-gleaming
For you I’m now dreaming,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
So, come ye, and take me
For you will not fake me,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
I love you, my kitten,
So put on your mitten,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 1:07 AM UTC
Oh how she poses perfectly,
Carrying her persona beautifully,
Entice me her looks so elegantly.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrationist humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love. □□
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
He was a boy dressed in green who flew into the Nursery one night.
He flew in to retrieve the shadow that had gotten separated from him.
He had his fairy and best friend Tinkerbell fly into the room at first.
He followed about a minute later and told Tinkerbell to find it for him.
He watched Tinkerbell fly over a dresser drawer & asked which one.
He ran over to the drawer that Tinkerbell stayed beside & he opened it.
He takes the shadow out & happily holds it in his arms and hugs it.
He tries to stick the shadow on by just putting it on his head and poses.
He then has to pick the shadow up from the floor when it falls off.
He tries again and then sees soap & says he'll use that to make it stick.
He rubs the soap on the shadow or himself & tries to make it stick.
He starts to get very upset because the shadow won't stick itself to him.
He starts breathing heavily & asks, "What's the matter with you?"
He wakes Wendy & she thinks he's crying. "Boy, why are you crying?"
He answers her differently in the recent version from the others.
He just stands up from where he is and bows to her in the other films.
He stands up in the recent version & says to her, "I'm not crying."
He's told in the recent film that he looks like a boy out of a storybook.
He calls himself a "brave adventurer" & Wendy says, "Who cries."
He looks at Wendy and says to her, more sternly this time, "I don't cry."
He asks what her name is, she says, "Wendy Mira Angela Darling."
He tells her his & says, "It's enough for me." when she asks if that's it.
He looks around & asks, "Is this a real house?" Wendy says, "Yes."
He doesn't ask that in all the other versions, they just exchange names.
He does different things depending on what version you watch.
He goes out in the hall in the recent film when a noise interests him.
He tells her some things about himself, like that he is forgetful.
"Second star to the right and straight on till morning." is where he lives.
He tells Wendy this in every single version when she asks him.
He's asked if he gets letters & says in many films, "I don't get any letters."
He says in the recent film, "I don't get any." with a little shrug.
He also says, "I don't have a mother." when told his mother must get'em.
He puts a hand up & backs up when Wendy tries to hug him.
He says, "You mustn't touch me." Wendy puts her arms down & asks why.
He says, "No one has ever touched me." and just looks at her.
He's told by Wendy, "No wonder you were crying." and looks at her again.
He says, "I told you I wasn't. I just can't get my shadow to stick."
He also tells her, "I tried everything. Even soap." points to the bar of soap.
He gets the shadow on with the help of Wendy & is happy again.
He gets a thimble thinking it's a kiss and gives Wendy one to thank her.
He tells her about Neverland & she tells him that she knows stories.
He tells her to come with him and says that they will both fly to get there.
He says before this that he knows fairies & Wendy meets Tinkerbell.
He allows Wendy's brothers Michael and John to come fly with them too.
He teachers everyone how to fly and then they are off to Neverland.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
The daughter of the village Maire
Is very fresh and very fair,
A dazzling eyeful;
She throws upon me such a spell
That though my love I dare not tell,
My heart is sighful.
She has the cutest brown caniche,
The French for "poodle" on a leash,
While I have Bingo;
A dog of doubtful pedigree,
Part pug or pom or chow maybe,
But full of stingo.
The daughter of the village Maire
Would like to speak with me, I'll swear,
In her sweet lingo;
But parlez-vous I find a bore,
For I am British to the core,
And so is Bingo
Yet just to-day as we passed by,
Our two dogs haulted eye to eye,
In friendly poses;
Oh, how I hope to-morrow they
Will wag their tails in merry play,
And rub their noses.
* * * * * * *
The daughter of the village Maire
Today gave me a frigid stare,
My hopes are blighted.
I'll tell you how it came to pass . . .
Last evening in the Square, alas!
My sweet I sighted;
And as she sauntered with her pet,
Her dainty, her adored Frolette,
I cried: "By Jingo!"
Well, call it chance or call it fate,
I made a dash . . . Too late, too late!
Oh, naughty Bingo!
The daughter of the village Maire
That you'll forgive me, is my prayer
And also Bingo.
You should have shielded your caniche:
You saw my dog strain on his leash
And like a spring go.
They say that Love will find a way -
It definitely did, that day . . .
Oh, canine noodles!
Now it is only left to me
To wonder - will your offspring be
Poms, pugs or poodles?
4k
Oh Selfie Selfie Selfie!
You're taken here and taken there
Anywhere and everywhere
In random poses we prefer.
From wide smile and duck face
To looking cute and being fierce
Searching for the right angle
In order to catch the likers.
Some say you show too much vanity
But who are they to judge so harshly?
When all you want is for them to be happy
And express themselves perfectly.
Krystal Marcelo
01/18/2016
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
The small blue Arab stallion dances on the hill
like a glancing breaker, like a storm rearing in the sky,
In his prick-ears,the wind, that wanderer and spy,
sings of the dunes of Arabia, lion-coloured still.
The small blue stallion poses like a centaur-god,
netting the sun in his sea-spray mane, forgetting
his stalwart mares for a phantom galloping unshod;
changing for a heat-mirage his tall and velvet hill.
3.6k
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
we went to the supermarket,
took our cameras to photograph
homogenized colors like the milk
in between poses, we played catch with the packets of fish *****
drew smiles on the condensation in the freezer aisle
chased around the boy (code name platypus) with the Rolex.
so we balanced:
primary-colored bell peppers –
on our heads
and waited for the flash.
Dec 19, 2010
Dec 19, 2010 at 11:00 AM UTC