You are all a work of art by Tangled-Tales, literature
Literature
You are all a work of art
Take me to
an art museum,
and tell me
I am the most beautiful thing
in the room
grab my shoulders, and
shout to the gallery-goers,
"do not touch
this girl,
this work of art."
You're a mean one, Mr Turbo by Benthehyena, literature
Literature
You're a mean one, Mr Turbo
You’re a mean one, Mr Turbo.
You really are a heel.
You’re as cuddly as a cactus, you’re as charming as a glitch, Mr. Tur-BO !
You’re a bad banana an with a… greasy black peel.
You’re a monster, Mr Turbo.
Your application program’s an empty hole.
Your code is full of spiders, you’ve got garlic in your program, Mr Tur-BO.
I wouldn’t touch you with a… thirty-nine and a half foot pole !
You’re a vile one, Mr Turbo.
You have Cy-bugs in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, Mr Tur-BO !
Given the choice between the two of you, I’d take theR
[Disclaimer, please read the description before you read this poem, it shows how you're supposed to read this piece, thank you]
We log on-check-check-check-checking over FaceBook-
Click-click-click-click-clinkin' all the updates-
(Scroll-scroll-scroll-scroll-scrolling on the blogs again)
This is the new society
ten-fifty-seventy-ninety-over hundred friends online
three-twenty two-hundred nine the month before
(Scroll-scroll-scroll-scroll-scrolling on the blogs again)
This is the new society
Block-block-block-block-all of the pornography
(Scroll-scroll-scroll-scroll-scrolling on the blogs again);
Minds-minds-minds
This is my phone,
there's many like it, but this one is mine,
my phone is my best friend, it is my life,
I must master it as I master my life.
Without me it is useless, without my phone I am useless
I will dial my phone true
I must text faster than my brethren
who is trying to contact me, I must text them before they text me....I will.
My phone and myself know what counts in society is not the data we receive
Not the tweets we get,
The reblogs on tumblr, nor the likes on facebook.
Knowing the message is sent that counts.
We will send
My phone is human, even as I, because it is my life
Thus I learn it as a brother, learn its glitches, t
She writes such lovely poems
But nobody really cares
She hides them all the time
To avoid the judging stares
She wrote one yesterday
About a boy who said he loved her
But to her own dismay
She caught him with another
She wrote one about school
And the words painted on her locker
“No one likes you, stupid bitch.
You’re lucky I’m at soccer.”
She wrote about her parents
And how she wished they were together
But she knows that won’t ever happen
And forgetting’s probably better
Yes, she writes such lovely poems
But there’s so much more to this
See, her pencil is a razor
And the paper is her wrist.
Stop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from..
Stop demanding her to do things,
Things she can't accomplish,
Things she can't imagine being done...
Stop lying to her,
Telling her you love her,
Want her, need her...
When all you've ever done is make her want to
Die.
Stop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from...
Because,
When those little things you've done
Take her down...
The little things won't matter anymore.