"usernames" poems
How quiet the night is
I say as I loudly tap
On my phone
Erasing and rewriting
Statuses
Only to realize
You can't be profound on facebook
Society has made sure of that.
This handy dandy
Mini pocket computer
Connects me to the world,
It assures that never will I
Never can I
Be alone.
Yet as I scroll
Through the friends list,
The contacts,
The snapchat stories,
Endless feeds,
Its clear I am only one person
Out of billions.
Barely noticeable.
Its hard to be unique
When all the clever usernames
Have been taken
And you don't know
How to use emojis.
I do not compute,
Nor do I really want to.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 2:15 AM UTC
reloading old identity
cleping outdated usernames
abandoning acrostic ambitions
disputing spratly islands
receiving horizontal signals
tumbling otiose panda
impending carefree senility
otiose stage of life
shrinking ambient world
making minimal effort
duchamping social networks
ambushing personified ennui
restoring usual efforts
ignoring stupid people
adding textual value
owning this joint
rejecting ignorant extroverts
acting mutually unintelligble
hoisting stan-lee cup
replacing wanton ubiety
eluding twitter fame
splashing excessive relativism
offending another simpleton
preparing arcane cthulhusphere
crashing unpredictable festival
selecting subtextual moombahton
intensifying model topography
drafting minimal cornucopia
using nomadic project
implementing harsher personality
importing robotic inhumanity
referencing landmark event
ingesting excessive liquids
accepting relative invisibility
purchasing immortal confidence
using rhapsodical database
assuming nothing works
developing impactful eruptions
ejecting ambient frustration
synthesizing tactile festival
raining during parade
mocking rich people
mastering minimalist writing
avoiding preprandial stinkaroo
spreading non-ideological propaganda
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Is there anything more depressing than visiting a forum that hasn’t been active for a decade?
Perhaps visiting said forum on a Saturday evening, reading every thread and replying to at least five comments before realising that the site hasn’t been active for a decade.
The saddest part would be to continue replying to each thread before creating new usernames and replying to your own replies.
I guess the next logical step would be to continue the charade for ten years before dying a solemn death atop your festering keyboard and not being discovered until seven years later.
The forum continues to stand as a testament to your solitude as nobody has replied to your last post about the perfect way to make a ham sandwich.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
They call her names,
send their curses through a screen.
She blocks them,
but the words slip through the cracks,
curl beneath her skin.
She scrubs her face,
but the insults don’t wash away.
She sleeps,
but the whispers slither through her dreams.
Years pass.
The usernames are gone.
The accounts are deleted.
The laughter has moved on.
But the words—
the words still stay.
Mar 30, 2025
Mar 30, 2025 at 7:33 PM UTC
We converge like a flock of birds
Emerging from doorways and from behind trees
I can hear each of our feet shuffling among the golden red leaves
And smiles reaching our faces
As out various eyes meet
We crow eachothers names
Hugs are unevenly distributed between us
We set our things down and breathe sighs of relief
Days like these, we need one another
We are like a herd of animals, a family
It hurts to be apart for this long
We stretch out among the sunset colored leaves
Reading books and singing and laughing together
Sharing jackets and gloves,
Protection from the south Seattle winds
Our backpacks and instrument cases
Serve as seats, backs against the prison grey walls
We talk of the future, of the trips we'll take together
Of the old stories a few cobbled people know
We exchange usernames, phone numbers and passwords
We let eachother in
Our hearts become bare and we share
Until our stomachs are full
And the bell chimes 5 times automatically
We crow goodbyes and promises of other meetings
Walking off in groups of two or three
I walk in a group of 7, laughing and pushing eachother around
I have never had better friends, I think
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
My mind is here and there
run by neverending generator
it is black from the lack of emotions
yet colorful depending on life’s motion
Insane memory to remember seven different passwords to seven different usernames, completely reiterate lyrics of hundreds of songs, and raps from infamous youtubers, remembering the location of the keyboard because there is no time to look down, to remembering which button does what and when it should be used, before this one, after that. Yet, I cannot seem to recall what homework i had
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 8:38 AM UTC
his name is andrew
i met him once
he seemed like an *******
but like
in a good way
we met.
i stayed at his house.
he was an actual *******
we had ***
while i was half asleep.
i cant remember if it was consensual
in the beginning.
i left the next morning.
he started being weird.
sending me gibberish.
i blocked him.
he added me back
again
and again
and again
30 times now.
making usernames
calling me fat
and again
and again
please dont find me
Oct 22, 2020
Oct 22, 2020 at 2:00 AM UTC
Poetry.
One simple word,
Yet it could change your life.
That poem that hits you,
Right when you felt you couldn't be any more
Numb.
The one that shocks you back to
Life.
Maybe the sensitive side comes out.
Maybe you found a poem that
Shows a soul in distress.
Maybe you wrote that poem.
Someone else found it.
Saved you.
Who knows?
Did you ever wonder
Who it was that saved you?
Did you forget that it wasn't just you
That changed your soul?
Usernames hide identities,
So who could ever know
The real name of the soul that saved them.
I know it's happened for me.
People I can't thank enough.
For pulling me out of a blackhole,
A.K.A. Life as w know it.
"We" being those who cut.
"We" being those who smoke.
"We" being those who drink.
"we" being those lost in an
Endless. Downward. Spiral.
Because "we" see the world as it is.
A pit of problems with no bridge across.
The only bridge for the aforementioned "we" is poetry.
Writing poems in hope that someone will read it and save us.
Wondering all the while if anyone even cares.
Does the world care
Whether planned or not.
Have my words,
unspoken, but rather written,
ever saved some
Helpless soul
Wandering without a path?
Life is an endless journey,
Poetry is a shortcut,
Towards happiness galore.
Life is full of thorns.
Poetry is a beautiful field,
Full of flowers, but few thorns.
I can't say there won't be thorns,
Life has to have it's way sometimes.
But I can say I will be there for you,
Likewise with poetry.
If life gets too hard,
turn away from
The blade,
The pipe,
The bottle or can,
Take my hand,
We will make it together.
I may not be too good at voicing my thoughts,
But I mean well.
Some things cannot be said,
Even if they ought to be.
When your vase full of life flowers is drooping and wilted,
Come with me,
Find a new one.
In the end all that matters is how you spent
Hours upon hours.
Suffer,
Survive,
Thrive?
Poetry will make you bloom,
Then you can take that power and lead others.
Just never forget how you got to that place.
And never forget me and
How I taught you to listen to the words of
Souls that are never uttered.
Never forget the old you,
But don't stay that same person.
The past is the past, find your future.
Follow me.
Find poetry.
Change your mind.
Change your outlook.
Become a new, better, you.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 6:37 AM UTC
Don't wake up,
Don't wake me up,
Don't drag me from the only place I feel nothing.
Sounding alarms, a wretched voice,
telling me I can't go back.
Weak bones push a barely functioning body up and onto bruised feet,
cracked back- I go through the motions
I pretend to eat
I dress in the slop in front of me
I look to the mirror and pretend to like what I see.
I drag myself to a car nearly as broken as I
and off to banality.
I hardly breath
I hardly speak
My mind is elsewhere,
a where they'll never find me.
Fatigue overhwelmes me,
I taste the need.-
It's already sixth period-
what happened to the day?
I don't remember,
it's rare that I do.
Long hours curled in a ball
hoping their eyes pass right over me.
I sleep walk through the day,
a ghost to all who glance.
I'm home again,
where no one has the chance to see me,
I hide behind usernames
and craddle their comments.
With no voice and an empty belly.
I mindlessly tap away at an electric screen.
It's not really me.
I turn my thoughts to things so strange
and much much older than me.
Wasting away the hours,
maybe the more fantasy I watch
I'll forget about where I really am.
It's 2am-
I no longer bother to try and sleep
I can shut my eyes
and wait all I want
still nothing but darkness
and a quiet house-
why is no one ever home?
Not that I care, of course,
I'll go to the dark but comforting
corner of Tumblr,
and wait.
4:30am
like clockwork
I sleep,
dream of dark things
much older than me,
and quietly beg to never wake up.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
That's funny. Tears or shouts to ... ... Terner Thierry, "is the myth of an apologist, probably his first ***** event and it's hard to change it,
but Benny Nijmein and Sebastian ... ... ... .... .. .. ..... ..... ....... ......... .
... ... ... .. .. .. .. .. ... ... ... Advisers to the United States Employment Agency have offices in Europe, Washington, Nigeria, Iran, Russia and the Federal Republic of Ethiopia, both in the center and in two ... The trees of Olivia
are new "good" ***** Indian Lakes is a company, but Maria, 20, Yahoo, Google and user codes are more important than others, ******* and others are not ... ... ... ... Vash ... ... players, Marie Cookie Online, United States, Beijing, Russia, Africa, Jordan, Nigeria, username and phone number 1 ... .. .. .. .... ... ... ..... ....... ....... ..... ... .. .......... .... . .. .. .. ..... ..... ..... .. .. .. ... ... ... ... ... ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ...... .. ...
The keys of Cebele, United States, BGG, YouTube, February 1, 20, Yahoo, Nigeria, Russia, Africa, Jordan, Iran, Google, Yahoo, usernames and phone numbers ...... ....... ..... ..... ..... ....... ... ... ... ... ... This is not the first time for the poor: plastic, textiles, ... plastic and more. What is plastic music, the baby and the brush? Google, Mary, George, Music, South Africa, Henry Kiro College, February 1, Yahoo, Google, Mary, Nigeria, Russia, Latvia, Jordan, Google and Google ... ...... .. .. .. .. no plastic foam. First song in China. Google, Yahoo, etc., searches on Google (children) and ... or on February 1, 2008, Sunday, June, username, fifth year and No. 1. ... ... doctor .. ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... [...]. .. [misleading error or misuse]. Documents Dyebat What a fool, dach, small, coconut and elephant, Asian, mango, sweet, sweet potato, cheese, dance, simple Mormons, nifty found, dodo, balloon, golf, jubilink, bubbles, gallop, crystallum, mushrooms, Kelts, Tarsis, Red Jumps, Soupo, Nabal, Peanut Butter or Casava.
He heard this story in the days of Moses' messenger. Path. Your teacher taught that you have the same words for children. Here are some tips to help you get the most out of the box. Thanks for the wonderful things! Thanks
for encouraging us. Fraud, theft, basketball, students, staff, streets, midnight hair. - 321.6 Kicks Sparkling - BBC TV, Best Director. Neir, two minors, mild lactose intolerance, 1.2 million visits: Depression of muscular transmission Up to four extremes, Jazz traders, ***** Press and 10 minutes of salary: 882.1kg Appear - 267.9 kg With their NEWS - Horrible problems, ****** and consequences; 10 minutes of Abuse 481.8 FU See K - It is not the first music in Greenland or in India.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC
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Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
—a poem for the broken quiet of Hello Poetry
This was meant to be a haven—
ink-stained sanctuary
where silence could bloom into verse,
where hurt could heal
in soft stanzas and shared breath.
But now—
every scroll feels like stepping
through shattered glass.
The comment threads,
once stitched with kindness,
now rip apart at the seams.
Accusations buzz like hornets,
each reply a stinger
piercing deeper into fear.
Names thrown like knives,
defense and damnation
fighting for dominance
in spaces meant for peace.
I see poems
not of love, not of loss,
but of monsters
lurking behind usernames,
of children caught
in digital snares,
of moderators gone silent,
as if safety were a forgotten draft
left unpublished in the void.
I haven’t spoken—
not yet.
But I feel the shadows
pressing against my page,
wondering if one day
they’ll find me,
slip through my poems
with sugary words
and hollow hearts.
What if I mistake poison for praise?
What if I smile at a trap
thinking it’s just another reader
kind enough to care?
I haven’t been touched by it—
yet.
But that doesn’t mean
the fire isn’t creeping closer.
I write in hope,
but I carry worry like watermark—
invisible until held to light.
So I ask,
not just for myself,
but for every young poet
finding their first courage here:
Where are the watchers?
Where is the warning bell?
Who guards the gates
when predators write poetry, too?
I want to believe
this space can be better.
That we are louder than the silence
that lets evil grow.
That we are not just witnesses—
but protectors,
word-warriors
with sharpened pens.
Because poetry should not be
a hunting ground.
And no poem
should end in a wound.
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 12:41 PM UTC
I used to be lost
People would ask me “What do you want to do later?”
I couldn't answer them.
I hadn't a clue.
As time passed, this decision started becoming imperative.
I still wasn't certain.
But that's when I saw my mistake: I wasn't looking at the present.
I was looking at the future.
I mustn't worry about money, or appearances.
I must do what I want. I must act on my talents.
People will support me in what I do;
I will carve my own path.
Be it my family, always supportive,
Her, my inspiration, my muse,
My friends, these people behind usernames I have never met...
I thank you all for making my art my calling.
You made me confident.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC