"snapchatting" poems
The tags say, "Dry Clean Only" but I didn't have time before I left.
So now my favorite purple sweater, the one with the elbow patches, smells like you and filet mignon.
Rewind.
July:
"Congratulations, it's a match!" Reads my tinder notification.
Little did I know, I'd actually like you.
Little did I know you'd say you wanted something.
August:
I got your number, we planned on meeting up.
Our plans fell through, but we continued to talk and flirt anyways.
September:
I left for school, as did you.
Hundreds of miles away, you could tell there was something wrong through a text message.
You were there for me, everything I needed, you were it.
You told me you didn't just want someone to **** you wanted someone to love.
October & November:
The texts dwindled down to barely any.
All I wanted was for you to respond, or finally text me first.
We planned on meeting up for thanksgiving, you ignored me.
December:
Finals week approaches and I finally hear from you again.
You want to meet up for real this time.
We say, let's meet over break.
January:
You text me, four nights before I'm leaving again.
Tomorrow? You ask me, I obviously say of course.
Terrified, I think you're going to stand me up,
but when you finally walk into the Starbucks,
my heart drops.
This is actually happening.
You come back to my place, this and that happens.
You leave.
But what I didn't think is that we'd be back at square one.
Ignoring my texts, yet snapchatting me and liking my moments.
Now:
I run to rid you from my mind.
But yet you appear so vividly and I can hear your voice saying, "are you gonna come and get it?"
Just like you said that day.
So I never had the time to dry clean my favorite sweater, so it still smells of your cologne and filet mignon.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
While snapchatting about my newest cat fail video
my Instagram bea blew up my twitter feed
I was all, *** DM much…”
But she was already facebooking selfies.
I shot her a gif and invited her to follow me
On tumblr….
The whole time lamenting
Over my dead myspace account –
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC
she told me at lunch that maybe her phone had
decreased her attention span,
because everything now seemed boring
and I want her to destroy that phone,
because I live when she is alive,
and these screens have taken us away,
made us focus up close to a false image
and we'll look up pictures of beautiful landscapes
forgetting that there's a landscape around us,
a person next to us.
We've become so focused on the blue light on
our phones that you haven't looked up to the
blue light of my eyes in the past thirty minutes,
"Helllllooooo?"
Why have we replaced who we are with these
technologies, you weren't born a robot
your blood is becoming electrical currents,
I can see the metal behind your ears-
plastic replacing bones,
our eyes are sensory latest edition LCD displays-
ears expensive hearing aids
and we still can't hear each other say, "I love you,"
these days are passing by and all we can do is
instagram them- we're so busy snapchatting
we forgot that these are our glory years,
we're all chronically lonely and maybe it's because
the person next to you says they care about you
but in the last thirty minutes they've looked at that phone more than you
and you can't help but wonder,
am I the only one that's awake?
we were born human and we should die human,
I am not a screen, my life isn't a profile,
I can't kiss you through a text message,
(no matter how hard eighth grade couples try)
and I refuse to let myself slip out of what it is that
makes me or you alive.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
I'm surrounded by hippies
self proclaimed hippies
I should add
Because if they were real hippies
They would understand
How to love
people,
and nature,
and ******* everything
I'm not surrounded by real hippies
I'm surrounded by people craving excitement
Not because of the beautiful adventure available in the excitement of life
But because of the fear of being alone
However, its in my loneliest moments
Spent texting
or snapchatting
or on two hour long phone calls
that I feel more alive than ever
I smile more than I have all day
And not the same fake smile I have at work
That smile that I have to wear
cause honestly, my job depends on it
No, not that ******* smile
Its the smile that you hear through the phone
The one that holds the true happiness I feel when I talk to you
The one you love so much
that you've written about it in so many of your poems
It's the smile you'll see when you kiss me on the cheek in the morning
I'll wear it when I'm making you breakfast
You'll see it for hours spent rolling around in our sheets
God, you'll probably get sick of me always wearing that smile
Just know that the smile you see
Showing on my mouth but truly radiating from my eyes
Is the product of a girl so head over heels in love
With you
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Absent deliberate intervention
vis a vis suicide,
supposed "natural" longevity
of generic human primate ride
ding ******** across avast
broke back mountain minus pride
defies accurate prediction,
though hypothetical
projections can override
unknown factors, whereby
excluding misfortune nationwide
(and/or globally deadly accidents,
catastrophes, diseases, mudslide,
fatalities from gunshot, et cetera)
unexpectedly arise dismissing by landslide
mortal adversity can be generally,
and more accurately spell joyride
ding calibrated to continue,
thus subsequent existence,
viz getting inside
scoop of this basic fellow, aye surmise
to continue for many another hayride
say...two score plus more orbitz,
whereat linkedin, flickr ring guide
by invisible hand snapchatting
crackling and popping fireside,
twittering whatsapp pining
during eventide,
watching virtual twilight at dockside,
witnessing artificial intelligence,
perfectly mimicking
illusory edenic countrywide
vibrantly melds scenic
ideal tonic bedside
counting black sheepish crows,
thence set sleep number
putting all worries aside
while merrily rowing boat
with gentle creatures alongside.
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
Our babies are having babies
Cant keep their legs closed
They open their mind to a different life
Open their eyes to a different light
LED lights flash before their eyes
Little T.V. screens you cant get away from their hands. Finger tips click, click, clicking away
The only time i can feel my heartbeat is when there is red, white, and blue flashing behind our ride
I hear my heart beat thump, thump, thumping in my ears
My Hands are shaking
My voice is trembling as i try to open my mouth to tell you how i truly feel but you look at me with those blue eyes that remind me of the sky with a hint of green like the leaves on the trees we sat under when i told myself im in love with you
I feel a waterfall form in my eyes as you ask "whats the problem, officer?"
Hand on his gun
The only time i feel safe is when your hands are around my neck
Telling myself its okay
Telling myself i'll be okay
Is like lying to your mother
Im only 17 but my eyes are more wide open than your mouth is when you get the wrong phone for your birthday
Some kids dont get birthdays
Their last birthday was their first in heaven
You say you want in the game
But this game aint no game
Good Kids are getting shot over the game
You say you want in the game but all it does is make you look lame, stay in your lane
Snapchatting your 4th blunt "so lit tonight"
Snapchatting your last memory "90mph" music so loud you cant hear your thoughts
Eyes so low you cant see the truth
It lies right underneath your nose
Look up and youll find a better light
With a better life
And maybe a wife
This ice aint all that
This life aint all that
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 5:30 PM UTC
Back in the day it was horrible
to make a public spectacle of oneself.
But these days we've outdone ourselves -
and though we march to our own drums
more than ever before -
we do so "in your face,'
snapchatting, webcamming, wickrdly off:
and that can be a never ending disgrace!
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
*Back in the day it was horrible
to make a public spectacle of oneself.
But these days we've outdone ourselves -
and though we march to our own drums
more than ever before -
it's moment by moment,
up close and overly personal:
we do so "in your face,'
snapchatting, webcamming, wickrdly off--
and that can be a never ending disgrace!*
●○
°
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 8:32 AM UTC
studious skinny scruffy scribe
Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sniggering,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning ********
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 4:32 PM UTC
Sometimes -
I wish I could Photoshop my life
Instead of snapchatting every lonely birthday cake,
covered in dried wax because when I went to make a wish -
I didn’t know where to start.
A new camera?
A shiny bright white microwave?
World peace? A hand to hold without
someone else pointing fingers at me?
By the time I was ready to blow,
the static had already had us -
Like a volcano sinking into the ocean
I wanted more than anything to burst new land -
but I fizzled -
Sometimes I want to meet someone off Tinder
Right here and right now
plan to have *** and fall in love.
Sometimes I think that the only people who marginalize us
is ourselves - like when
You and I broke up, it felt like the galaxy started to get pulled in the wrong direction
Like - some alien black matter wanted whatever piece of light I had left,
and I almost let go. But if almost’s and black holes
were the same, I wouldn’t still be here.
Something balanced out.
And then ironically, I saw you at a gas station
Pulled over. You said you’d been missing me.
That’s when I saw the mathematics of the environment.
Binaries that gave way to greater purpose.
A reason to rhyme, I’d found it.
Completely astounded, I allowed it,
to take over every shred of second I had left on this clump of dirt.
Isn’t it amazing -
That some days, weeks even
I’ll wake up, in a daze, weak, not notice a bottle of water
on a table, or desk - and there are days
I will go without water, head ringing before bed
And I’m wondering why, water is gathering dust
my will to continue with you going dry - wondering why
wondering why it went down like it did
why, you were so caught on by something your mother said years ago.
For fuck's sake, had she been high?
Or at least tripping over her own ego - we will never know.
But that’s something I see every day.
People who smile, to get a smile
To smile, and I just smile back
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
(an All Poetry feat to walk in
the poetic feet of Robert Frost)
Bucolic New England, circa
Early twentieth century New England
awash with dynamic harmonic leisureliness,
when much of North America favored rustic
visual whirled wide webbed watercolor
waiting afield at dusk, the thrum
of nature all abuzz didst feed thine
dizzily green jovial mien
unlike mean Gary Lewis
veritable innocence and naiveté
rollicked with mine lanky frame
relishing ambling into my own quietude
an infinite breadth, length and scope
of infrequently trammeled near ******
woodland paths grown over with brambles
nonetheless a faintly trussed harbinger
marked by weatherbeaten
for sale signposts
with here and there an abandoned plow
long since given over
to rust when the pasture
seasons elapsed since
farmer(s) left unharvested
fecund fields absent
the cloven hoof,
and deprived enrichment
manure, sans ungulates
ceased sufficing healthy
free ranging bovines,
where etudes punctuated
the terribly gross fresh air,
now no longer audibly quickening,
snapchatting, nor twittering
with the last word of a bluebird
deathly silence now 'cept
the wind in the willows
whispering woebegone laments
tree tops pining to cradle
idle youthful dreamers
boughs devoid of
psalm quivering romantic songstress
clattering debris merely
delivering echoed whooshing refrains
continually disintegrating among
in a disused graveyard
prescient ken aches with nostalgia
hallucinogenic nightmare slams
irrevocably shut the door in the dark
closed for good upon the onset,
wrought genocide against
the vanishing Red man,
a ghostly scarification meaningless ritual
wrested, removed, and highjacked
from indigenous peoples
without rhyme, nor reason
as fraternities no
longer pledge allegiance.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC