Pretty Stupid Girls (by Misti Rainwater-Lites)

Misti-rainwater-lites-180(I’m a big fan of writer Misti Rainwater-Lites.  For me, this poem sums up Duh’Merica perfectly.)

This poem is timeless and one that can be read 100 years from now and still be applicable to American Society.

This poem is absolutely, fucking perfect.

I found this on: Poem of the Week September 19th 2005

Pretty Stupid Girls by Misti Rainwater-Lites

pretty stupid girls
chewing Dentyne Ice
and chatting on their cell phones
as Vietnamese ladies
polish their toenails
pretty stupid girls
showing off cleavage and fake tans
in bra tops from Victoria’s Secret
gossiping about Kevin and Britney
wanting to be Paris and Nicole
pretty stupid girls
getting sloshed in clubs
that blast stupid songs
going home with
pretty stupid boys
proving to the world
that Americans
pretty much
suck

 

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Scenes from a Waiting Room

Act I. (the elderly)
Old, musty ass wrinkled seniors wearing bad track suits, their lifeless, aged skin scarred with purple gum colored splotches hanging from their bones like loose sleeves,
a cell phone rings deep inside a purse underneath the dentures and coupons, by the time the old lady realized it was ringing, silence

Act II. (the soccer mom)
Frost dyed hair, way too tight Hollister shirt, tight faded jeans with pocket designs, elastic fake tits shaped into perfect round globes, husband at work banging his secretary who has even faker tits, but younger body
wife doesn’t care as long as she gets Starbucks 3 times daily,the phat mommy suburban with the cutesy family stickers on the back window showing how many people are in the family, the glowing quarter sized diamond earrings and the trips to Vail, easy to have no soul than to deal with reality

Act III. (the salesmen)
Bad cuff links that even gay dudes wouldn’t wear, fake ass smile accompanied by even faker greetings, slick gelled guido-like hair stuck to their scalps with paste, belts crushed by doughnut stomachs,
calling names like cattle and branding the innocents with fees

Act IV. (me)
Three freaking hours waiting for tires, brought a Bukowski book, could only imagine what he would have thought
I couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t finish reading, couldn’t play games on my cell phone, I just kept watching the train wreck evolve with every new person who came into the waiting room, no blood or body parts, crap.

Red, White and Boo (a poem)

I see your Katie Perry

And I raise you Beyonce.

What ever happened to real art, like the Fat Boys?

Now, just splendid drivel cascading from the youthful mouth

Texting, sexting, pursed lips and Jersey Shore dreams.

Find China on a map? Fuck You, I’m getting my nails done at 3.

Be careful young ones, the noodles and puppy nuggets are coming to a store near you.

I see your E Hollywood News

And raise you Dancing With the Stars.

Posting every mundane bit of your daily shit for all to see

Facebook, Twitter, MySpace your freaking life away

My eyes, dried and burnt from your “Do you like me?” poll.

Keep your pom poms clean and your cell phone charged.

I see your De-evolution

And go all in with your soul

Shouldn’t be difficult to call my bet

You are another failed demographic, another vapid target market.

Duh’Merica (a poem)

DUH’merica, what have you done?

While you parade the streets in gas guzzling suburbans, there are soldiers dying around the world trying to kill dark-skinned people after taking orders from fat, pasty-white politicians who only care about their offshore bank accounts.

DUH’merica, why don’t you care?

That our children have difficulty finding China on a map, but they can update their Facebook status perfectly while crossing a busy city street without getting splattered in traffic.

DUH’merica, why can’t you turn it off?

The Kardashians, TMZ, The Bachelor, American Idol, America’s Got Talent sift through the minds of our youth like a slow, neurotoxin eating them from the inside out. Continue reading

That Bitch on the Bread Aisle (a poem)

It was staring at the whole wheat, organic, high fiber, no trans fat, sodium free, steroid free loaves

It was wearing bright pink sweat pants with the word “JUICY” spread across both ass cheeks, the “UI” sucked into the designer thong cavity, screaming for release.

I couldn’t find the 99cent generic Publix brand hot dog buns,
My eyes strained for the all white bread goodness, its eyes reading labels to disguise an attempt at being healthy.

I wanted to stop staring at it, but I couldn’t, I needed to see the blood from the train wreck, the pieces of bone from the auto crash, the land mine aftermath.

“Excuse me, do you know where the hot dog buns are?” I asked it.

“I don’t eat hot dogs, I wouldn’t know,” it replied without even looking in my direction.

Well shit, my fucking bad, I guess I should’ve known.
It was just a bitch on the bread aisle who wants to be 20 again.

Thanks for the collagen, thanks for the Ughs, thanks for your husband fucking his secretary instead of you.  Thanks for the suburban, thanks for the diamond studded Iphone.

I found the buns and walked out with my soul.

Melt (Glee on Ice), a poem

(just a little poem about the silliness that is television and pop-culture)

I wish, I could produce

Glee on ice

But I would heat the ice pieces

And watch them fall like cute, teen-aged bowling pins

Struck down by the real world to the ice below

Then I would scoop up the shattered pieces

into my extra large pan

And lock them in a vault

Forever.

your definition (a poem)

  • can I slide my hand

    you know, down there?

    I want to be your high school quarterback

    Your prom king, your blond, crew cut stud

    Be my cheerleader

    all innocent and shit

    flip your hair again

    I want to defile you

    and look up to see the bottom

    of the cold, aluminum bleachers

    Feel your strangled whisper breathing on my neck

    while your friends giggle in the hallways

    point their plastic fingers during lunch

    I want to cum fast

    you won’t care,

    cheeks reddened and flush and your jaw shaking

    Then,

    I would flip you over

    send you on your way, wading through

    the popcorn wrappers, discarded football programs

    shards of dirt-stained pizza crust

    Out into the light

    Then you will know your definition