You're 15 years old and your bird's just dumped you for the captain of the football team / you've discovered that your boyfriend is having it away with your best mate. Your long black hair is bitter with the salt of your unstemmable tears.

So: why not go all emo on us and write an excruciatingly self-pitying poem about it?

Here's a starting line if you need one, courtesy of your genial host Plazma Inferno!:

"Cankered in a womb of my hope..."

Go to it - you sorry gimps.

My only friend is this length of rope

I tear my flesh as you tore my soul

Nice, but I want a full poem please. Self-pity is very rarely a communal effort.

and down my tousers I have this "pole"

Nice, but I want a full poem please. Self-pity is very rarely a communal effort.

We are breaking ground!
You just don't understand!
No one EVER understands!!
:bawl:
I don't have to write your fucking poem, anyway!

Why don't you go draw an X on your hand, you straight edge loser!!:bawl:

I need a hug, a Chai tea and a razor blade. *sigh*

A full emo poem?


Waaah nobody loves me, I'm all alone
she broke my heart: it's made of stone
she's a callous bitch with a witch's cackle
look what she did to my wedding tackle
Oh why, god, must I suffer?
she took a job as the local fluffer
she wears short skirts
and flirts and flirts (that's the obligatory naff bit)
so much, that my life hurts
let me die, I want an end
pity me, I can't get a friend

So: why not go all emo on us and write an excruciatingly self-pitying poem about it?

I like cheese.

Hmmm, excruciating but not enough self-pity, Xev. And it doesn't rhyme.

A full emo poem?


Waaah nobody loves me, I'm all alone
she broke my heart: it's made of stone
she's a callous bitch with a witch's cackle
look what she did to my wedding tackle
Oh why, god, must I suffer?
she took a job as the local fluffer
she wears short skirts
and flirts and flirts (that's the obligatory naff bit)
so much, that my life hurts
let me die, I want an end
pity me, I can't get a friend
Classy. A fine start. I think you could do with upping the self-pity quotient to match the righteous anger quotient but otherwise it's the dog's.
and flirts and flirts (that's the obligatory naff bit)
And the rest is... what!??

stupid piece of worthless shit
give me a good smack i can take a hit
nobody ever gives a fuck
you people at school, you all suck
beat me there and leave me to die
throw me down and tell me to cry
youre a bunch of cowards so fuck it
its over im done with you, you can SUCK IT

And the rest is... what!??
Heartfelt emotion (at 15 years old waddaya expect?)

You come to the Mosh pit and to do what?

Just stand there with a frown!

You come here to the Mosh pit and you bring?

Your fucking sob story about some whore

You come her to the mosh pit and what do you do?

Cut yourself while everyone is moshin and bangin

You come to the mosh pit and and what do we see?

some gay lookin guy crying his eyes out

you come to the mosh and what do you have in your hands?

your CD player with an MCR CD!!

You come to the mosh and has been done?

YOU KILLED YOURSELF!!!

We're off to a flying start here. Again, a little too much fury and not enough moping around but I'm pleased with the contributions so far. I think I'll have to give mine some thought if I'm to match these.

You come to the Mosh pit and to do what?

Just stand there with a frown!

You come here to the Mosh pit and you bring?

Your fucking sob story about some whore

You come her to the mosh pit and what do you do?

Cut yourself while everyone is moshin and bangin

You come to the mosh pit and and what do we see?

some gay lookin guy crying his eyes out

you come to the mosh and what do you have in your hands?

your CD player with an MCR CD!!

You come to the mosh and has been done?

YOU KILLED YOURSELF!!!
Rubbish. Should've stuck with your first effort.

And yes, your marks on this will form a significant percentage of your end-of-term results.

So if I’m a liar and a fake
How much more can I take?
So when the ground beneath me crumbles
I will lay shaken, slowly tumbles
Without a word I will speak
No words forming, becoming weak
I will stay hidden, I will stay closed,
As I sit breathless and exposed.

I wrote this when I was about 18...

Manic Depression
I want you. I need you. Get out of my sight!
I'll be your strength when you're weakened. I'll take my own life.
I want to be the center of attention, so just leave me alone,
With everyone screaming in my quiet empty home.
If I jump off this cliff, do you think I will fly?
Damn I can't do it. Push me so I die!
I want you as my queen, when I'm king of the world.
So I can drift endlessly aimlessly. I want to fuck every girl.
With a life so exciting and endlessly new,
I can fall into a rut I have nothing to do.
Hold me and touch me I'm feeling down today.
I need love and support. Thanks. Now go away.
I've built a wall around my heart that nothing can break through.
If you leave me I will die right after I kill you.
I'm screaming in silence. No one can hear.
The pain I'm expressing falls on deaf ears.
I love you. You hate me. I have to know why.
You're below me. You taint me. Please baby, don't cry.
I hate myself for leaving you such a horrible wreck.
I can never let myself look at another. Okay, who's next?

I want to be the center of attention, so just leave me alone
Hmm. Do teenagers typically possess this kind of capacity for self-reflection? Excellent though, obviously.

As I slit my wrists into the night
I go to check my MySpace site
Littered with spammers and whores
Who all cut themselves sore.
With the blood dripping off the computer desk

Another oldie of mine...
Pathetic teen raven angst...

End of a Torture

She awakens listless alone in her bed,
memories of the liaison still haunting her head.

She looks in the mirror above the dirty sink,
and hates what she sees. She's afraid to think

of where she'll be five years from now.
And she's ashamed of where she's been.
All she could do is wonder how
she could let this happen again.

She's all alone in this fucking world.
She remembers the tears of a little girl

with her father inside her, she didn't know why.
She didn't know how to stop it, but had to try.

He had to die. It wasn't her choice.
She relives the torture every living day.
She wanted to stop it. No one heard her voice.
She begged for them to believe what she had to say.

She looks at the window to the street far below,
as the pain in her heart continues to grow.

The used condom on the floor is a remnant of last night
and all nights before. She turns on the light

and looks around the cheap rented room
and sees the entirety of her life before her.
She hangs by a string spun by the devil's loom.
She sees a face in the mirror that has learned to abhor her.

She realizes she made the wrong decision
as she steps onto the sill a step closer to oblivion.

Her final words she says to the man,
who ruined her life, but never again.

I'm sorry I killed you, we didn't both need to die.

I thought I'd survive. I'm sorry. Good Bye.

Ouch. My cheeks are stained pillarbox red for you here - or perhaps its in self-recognition of the boy I once was.

Awful. Brilliant.

As I slit my wrists into the night
I go to check my MySpace site
Littered with spammers and whores
Who all cut themselves sore.
With the blood dripping off the computer desk

hilarious :p

You dumped me for him, I feel like a disgrace
So know I comb my hair right over my face
So to heal this black pain inside today
I'll go kiss my friend chad, cause emos aren't gay
Just leave me alone with my hawthorne heights cd's
as I struggle and struggle to fit in my jeans
so I'll cut open my wrists without a fight
maybe you'll heal my black blood heart tonite

Another oldie of mine...
Pathetic teen raven angst...

End of a Torture

She awakens listless alone in her bed,
memories of the liaison still haunting her head.

She looks in the mirror above the dirty sink,
and hates what she sees. She's afraid to think

of where she'll be five years from now.
And she's ashamed of where she's been.
All she could do is wonder how
she could let this happen again.

She's all alone in this fucking world.
She remembers the tears of a little girl

with her father inside her, she didn't know why.
She didn't know how to stop it, but had to try.

He had to die. It wasn't her choice.
She relives the torture every living day.
She wanted to stop it. No one heard her voice.
She begged for them to believe what she had to say.

She looks at the window to the street far below,
as the pain in her heart continues to grow.

The used condom on the floor is a remnant of last night
and all nights before. She turns on the light

and looks around the cheap rented room
and sees the entirety of her life before her.
She hangs by a string spun by the devil's loom.
She sees a face in the mirror that has learned to abhor her.

She realizes she made the wrong decision
as she steps onto the sill a step closer to oblivion.

Her final words she says to the man,
who ruined her life, but never again.

I'm sorry I killed you, we didn't both need to die.

I thought I'd survive. I'm sorry. Good Bye.

Excellent!

I didn't have an emo to hand but I gave myself ten minutes to pen this ridiculous and scornful ode in the mode of Stevenson.

"Wretch'd, twistin', weeping weenie
What sa' made tha' life unseemly?
Ha' thou precocious love 'eer lost
Thy fourteen years' perceptions toss'd?
Well gi' a grip ye silly git
An' get some sun or feel a tit!

Try livin' three hundred years hence
An scrabblin' by an' rats n' pence!
Yer loss'll seem a damn vacation
When yer mind's distra'ted w' mass starvation!
So get thee gone, ye maudlin lout
An dun let door hi' ye on t'way out."

Emo?
Is that like when you get oppressed?

how, exactly, does this qualify as art and culture?

how, exactly, does this qualify as art and culture?
This bullsh*t life is a motherf**king nightmare.
Them crackers at it again using poor people for silverware.
They claim I aint entitled then they claim I aint a slave.
Then they work the f**k out a boy until I can't even stand straight.
Throwing f**ck sh*t minimum wage at my face.
That's right what a f**king charade.
Thjey sit in the first class seat tellin me how I'm so free.
Free indeed.
Giving me just enough to continue doing their dirt is my most lucrative deal.
Bending over for Papa John on a the motherf**cking nightly.
Taking it hard in the *ss for some cash and a slice of pepperoni.
It's like that when you living in lack. Yup. And they wonder why we rap.
These dummies wonder why we continue to buss shots for some stacks.
Infringing every part of me molested by society.
These f**k ass pigs can't wait to put a bullet in me.
If you don't find me on the labor site I'm likely dead or in prison.
Tell me again I aint a victim when I'm living in a system that wish to control my decisions.
Every day is a motherf**king struggle. I'm steady serving my time daily deep in the grind.
Endeavor to take away all that I'm making inflicting their wrath upon my liberty.
I'm praying to Jesus to rapture me out of this f**ked up *ss mortality.
This f**king concentration camp they call a life is a motherf**king twisted game.
Tried to steer the wheel of my life but I'm back on the curb waiting on the bus again.
Individual consequences catching up with me but I can't break free.
Was it I that commited the crime or was it the crime that commeited me.
They keeping us killing eachother no wonder we can't get together to break free.
The only unity in a subjugated community is bodies dead in a cemetary.
Everything that I make them crackers take one way or another.
And you can find me in the gutter.

how, exactly, does this qualify as art and culture?


because poetry is art

Lost in her fantasies wake
her cries getting desperate
her dreams getting darker
and soon she will forget
that she can live without pain
Old scars blend with new
one pain dulls another
bloodstain growing larger
happiness getting further
Each slash is a savior
Each cut brings her closer
To freedom…. or to closure
Each cut digs her grave
Her screams muffled by her casket
fall upon deaf ears
she never noticed all the silence…The silence after the cheers

-----------------------------------------------------

because poetry is art

There is a difference between well composed poetry and badly composed poetry the same as there is a difference between well composed art and badly composed art. Most people can't tell the difference :confused: .

Anyway- you don't need to lecture me that poetry is art. I was lucky enough to learn how to write from some of the best performance poets in the world... I am sure if I presented some typical emo lyrics to them as a piece I wrote they would tell me to rewrite or scrap it.

Calling some of this stuff poetry is like calling my baby brothers finger paintings art. Is it a true statement? Sure. But it says nothing about it's merit.

Yeah, Exploradora is a REAL artist. :rolleyes:

There is a difference between well composed poetry and badly composed poetry the same as there is a difference between well composed art and badly composed art. Most people can't tell the difference :confused: .

Anyway- you don't need to lecture me that poetry is art. I was lucky enough to learn how to write from some of the best performance poets in the world... I am sure if I presented some typical emo lyrics to them as a piece I wrote they would tell me to rewrite or scrap it.

Calling some of this stuff poetry is like calling my baby brothers finger paintings art. Is it a true statement? Sure. But it says nothing about it's merit.


i was not lecturing you! i was just answering your question. and beside what is poetry to you might not be poetry to me, and what is art to me may not be art to you. its all about taste

Meh, I still like mine best. Although maybe one_raven's.

Drowing in these tears of blood,
as she stamps my heart into the mud,
gushing from the artery, I scream in vain,
forever tormented by this eternal pain.

A song could never justify,
nor a life of happiness, her every lie.
A chord or two won't mend these scars,
so I'll let them fester as my soul chars.

I edge closer to the highest cliff,
I await my sentence for believing her myth.
She tore me in two and made me suffer,
but that's what I deserve for calling myself her lover.

One day we'll lie as one,
with the dead, the withered and all earth's scum.
We'll rot and bleed upon His throne,
each and every one of us who ever broke a bone.

Drowning in a pit of blood,
my tears mean nothing as they flood.
I cut myself to ease the pain,
but forever more these feelings will remain.

I'll go now and accept my fate,
for once I met her I knew it would be too late.

I thought you were in Africa.

I thought you were in Africa.

Uh oh.
You just gave your opponent the fodder he was looking for.

I thought you were in Africa.

I'm on the plane home. :rolleyes:

Relaxing before my 9pm press conference.

"Charity trip" went well did it? The girls were good?
Not that I fell for the story GeoffP put about, oh no.

I'm on the plane home. :rolleyes:


EM radiation within a plane other than avionics causes disturbances with avionics system of the plane, thus lessening chances of safe arrival of the plane to its destination?

Are you willing to take the chances...by having your laptop on?:bugeye:

Are you willing to take the chances...by having your laptop on?:bugeye:

I guess he just cares about his constituency that much!

If only his constituency cared half as much about him :)

I like to see someone top this baby of an authentic tortured-heart-emo-weeping-no-depth-whatsoever-cliche poem
Written by(as ashamed as I am to admit it)...me, when I was 14


Rain Clouds

It always seems to rain
All you can feel is pain
Happiness is lost
In a never ending frost

Everything’s a blur
Your never quite sure
What is going on around you
And what is really true

Sleep comes after tears
You wish you could escape your fears
And fly away from everyone
Right into the burning sun

The anger flashes
Burning then turning to ashes
As reality calls back
And you surrender to their attacks

You try to hide in your shell
But when they find you it becomes your cell
You fall into the crack
Deeper into the black

The darkness envelops
The hurting develops
The light fades away
You have nothing to say

Rubbish and brilliant by turns, that one, CFS. Your parents must be so proud.

I'm a bit soul-crushingly disappointed with my first effort, which limps off the blocks pathetically enough, but which then improves steeply until it reaches an ending so inordinately brilliant it would make Wordsworth* cry. I'm resolved to try a bit less harder the time preceding two times after this one.


Plane Crash in the Raging Sea of My Secret Despair

Plane down today,
No survivors.
Hope, Happiness and their
Bright, bubbly children
All swallowed by the
Seething waves of
The cold, salty, dead sea of tears
We call 'Love'.

The black, black box recorder of
My raging mind
Coolly relays the
Co-ordinates and chronology of disaster
To a wall-eyed audience
Too drunk and numb to care.

All I had, all I was
Snapped
Like matchsticks in a hurricane
Off the coast of
East Korea
Or somewhere like that.

The flotsam and jetsam of
My smashed, broken body
Races fat seagulls
To the shoreline of
Some long-forgotten island where
The untroubled natives
Make the bitterest of soups
From my bones.


Fin.

I'll continue the 'Transport As A Metaphor For Existential Angst' theme with my next composition: a piece entitled 'Squeaking, Rusty Bicycle of my Crushed, Worthless Dreams'.



*Barry Wordsworth, the alcoholic ex-postman who lives across the street from me.

I like to see someone top this baby of an authentic tortured-heart-emo-weeping-no-depth-whatsoever-cliche poem

I'll see your Rain Clouds and raise you a poem/song written from the perspective of, believe it or not, an angst-ridden Emo wuss who is none other than Satan, himself...
Written by yours truly (admitted with no shame).

Look at Yourself

I stand before you today as a simple humble man.
Why must you hate me so?
I am not the root of all evil.
I did not kill your children. I have never forced a hand.
Why does your fear still grow?
I am not the enemy of people.

All I ask is for you to listen. Please hear these words of mine.
Then I'll let you decide
If you think I should be damned.
I've had this cross you gave me to bear. From the beginning of your time.
No matter how I've tried.
People never understand.

I live alone.
I cry alone.
My own shoulder catches my tears.
I am misunderstood.
I do have a heart.
That is broken by your fears.

I have but one role to play for you. I am scapegoat to all people.
"Listen to me. I know you know."
"The Devil made me do it."
You take a gun and shoot your wife, then have the gall to call me evil.
They hear your side, then let you go.
Then pray you'll make it through it.

It pains my heart. That I am to blame. For all evil on your earth.
I am simply an honest man.
As I said, a man like you.
I show you options. Let you choose. You must decide their worth.
I let you know where I stand.
And to my word I am always true.

I make a deal.
I keep my word.
That is more than I can say for Man.
Mortal bliss.
All you want.
I offer you all I can.

I have no power over free will of men. I give you what you desire.
I ask politely for your soul.
Then offer you happiness in return.
Your eyes are open when you shake my hand. I do not threaten you with fire.
Your Lord sets you an impossible goal.
And tells you, "Succeed or burn."

You can resist me. It is your right. You can ignore me all you wish.
I do not attempt to sway your faith.
It is your greed that brings you to me.
God created you with your own free will. But tells you on Friday you eat fish.
I do not attempt to control your race.
I will allow you to be free.

Keep me in mind.
Think of my heart.
The next time you berate me.
You may ignore me.
Follow your God.
But you have no right to hate me.

I guess he just cares about his constituency that much!

Headline!

"Incipient Felon in Election Bid Recklessly Endangers Hundreds in Name of 'Art' "

Quick one.

Tear-Stained Haiku of Ultimate Doom

Born without a heart.
Selflessly, I gave you mine.
You laughed and smashed it.


Fin

how, exactly, does this qualify as art and culture?
"Your suffering has no value," she cried
Her face blank like paper.
I ran home and stuck
Pins in my voodoo doll.

I'd just like to add that this thread is every bit as crap as I hoped for.

So you’re sleeping with the captain of the football team now?
Why stop there? Why not have the coach as well?
And what about the team mascot, Larry the big dicked cow?
You filthy whore, I hope you burn in hell!

My feelings are not to be tampered with, Sheryl,
I opened myself up to you, presented you with my soul,
Your pretty little head conceals the mind of the devil,
I have lost my sanity and am now on the dole,

And its all because of you!
You broke the most important part of me,
I am a broken man - its true,
Now it’s time you pay the price; nothing is for free

I swear to the Great God of the Myuunitarians,
You will not live to see the rising of the new moon,
I will cut your fucking throat. No, I will not speak to the Samaritans,
I wish to see you dead, that will come to pass, soon.

What has become of us dear Sheryl?
All I ever do now is cry and scream
You destroyed everything, what you did was terrible,
Just another story of broken dreams.

................

:o sorry

:O I thought I was writing beautiful poetry to share with my angst-ridden brethren. My heart is broken. I wept tears at these raw exposures of the heart. How dare you call them crap.

shame redarmy11, shame.

Brilliant, Ghost! I'm loving the tone of hurt defiance.

There is a difference between well composed poetry and badly composed poetry the same as there is a difference between well composed art and badly composed art. Most people can't tell the difference :confused: .

Anyway- you don't need to lecture me that poetry is art. I was lucky enough to learn how to write from some of the best performance poets in the world... I am sure if I presented some typical emo lyrics to them as a piece I wrote they would tell me to rewrite or scrap it.

Calling some of this stuff poetry is like calling my baby brothers finger paintings art. Is it a true statement? Sure. But it says nothing about it's merit.
OMG. Nobody has put this nonsense trash talk out of misery yet? No offense, but don't think you can waltz around claiming you know what you are talking about, and not get doused and utterly humiliated by real lyricists.


All of the learning you get in the world from them gay poets aint finna help you compete.
Touch up the mic against the Skill finna leave your choochie the defenition of defeat.
Your f**k sh*t rhymes is weaker than a baby finger painted suckle.
F**king with me b**ch you might as well be looking for the corners on a soap bubble.
Bounded up like a slave in this lyrical game aint a gaddam name that could dust me.
With these shackles upon my wrists I throws my licks and I flush MCs.
Gay poetics so pathetic these speed lyrics stay gangsta till the day the seasons stop breathing.
Anytime you see me ride out the track you see MCs running away screaming.
These f**k ass b**ches running they lips claiming as if anybody could rip like this here.
From the north to the bottom midland east to the left I'm putting every one of these MCs in fear.
You *ssholes aint never heard of anything like this on any street or crawling out of your damn radios.
Cool Skill the rawest motherf**ker to spit them fire *ss flows.
I'm busting the sky wide with a me lyrics so thick and I flip it out so quick.
Aint a sucker nowhere on the planet could touch this.
If you don't believe it I dare you to go out and find it.
The riddim I scribe and these verses I put down cant never be cloned so you better don't even attempt cause you'll only get stumped.
Cool Skill and I'm a tell it again.
I'm fresher than anything ever created invented and molded from out of the sand and I bet on it whole hand.
You steady talking that dumb s**t like if you really legit but your poetry more gayer than seraphim.
All of the emo for the rest of your life aint gonna be enough to describe the despair that Cool Skill leave you in.

Something tells me CS doesn't quite "get" emo. It's not rap...

Something tells me CS doesn't quite "get" emo. It's not rap...
Show me where I said emo is rap. Dora was the one that started the battle. I don't know who's rhymes she was calling worse than a baby's finger paint, but that cannot go untouched. It's not my fault nobody else took her down.

Her. And your lyrics are rubbish.

No love for Satan?

Show me where I said emo is rap.

Because this an emo topic thread and you're posting rap? Maybe? Huh?

Because this an emo topic thread and you're posting rap? Maybe? Huh?
I only posted 2 sets.
http://sciforums.com/showpost.php?p=1415076&postcount=29
http://sciforums.com/showpost.php?p=1416424&postcount=53

Call it what you want.
The first one I posted was clearly emo.
The next one I posted was to murder Dora who was talking trash.
After I murdered Dora, redarmy started talking trash. I have no intentions of wasting my time on his foolishness until he has some real lyrics to throw.

The first one I posted was clearly emo.


Then he was right, and you don't know what Emo is.

The first one I posted was clearly emo.
Like I said, you just don't get emo.
The next one I posted was to murder Dora who was talking trash.
If you think your effort showed Exploradora was talking trash then you're further from reality than I thought.
After I murdered Dora,
No you didn't murder her.
I have no intentions of wasting my time on his foolishness until he has some real lyrics to throw.
In emo you don't "throw" lyrics. You miss the "point" (such as it is) completely.

This is actually in my novel; she has just discovered that the older man she is in love with, has been her mother's secret lover for the last 22 years. The story is set in Cyprus, hence the references to Aphrodite.

‘Oh Aphrodite!
You wicked bitch of the sea!
Oh goddess of lust and desire and passion and pain,
Why, you torment me so? Why, you distress me so?
Who gave you right, to cut people’s hearts,
Knife so rusty and rough in your clasp?
Your ragged blade cuts deep! Oh terrible whore!
Draws blood from the wound you dare to inflict!
Drains the mortal that a ghost may exist!
Who sired you? You whore of the gods?
Who placed you on these ragged shores of lime?
Was it your father, that old goat... that piece of slime?
That hater of women and sire of liars and bastards and swine?
That filled you with passion so terrible, so mad!
You struck out in hate and afflicted the young?
Why, oh wicked Bitch?
Do you awaken the carnal in my soul?
Shoot seeds of perversions and lusts to my bones?
Engorged as you bugger, my heart pierced as you probe!
As virtue to ashes burn, on pyres of black smoke!
Why, your stinking breath blow, into my broken heart?
You heartless, peerless, perfect bitch!
My soul you do blemish and you disrobe,
Oh Aphrodite!
Who gave you right to show me love?
Soak me in ardour, fervour... passions?
Promises dashed against the sand, my heart has judged you and your fashions!
Why not deceased and gone be, aborted torn and done be?
Stillborn in watery bloody womb! Oh aged bitch of the oceans?
Mother of whores and liars so coarse, they desecrate my emotions?
Your death at birth should you have sought and saved me this grief and pain and sorrow!
O desolate bitch upon the sea, why don’t you perish by tomorrow?
You stinking whore so foul and crude, born of the frothing mania,
In foam you flounder, sour and deep, no hope, no rope, no saviour!
How I hate you now and how I hate you forever!
How I wish you to hell and release from this agony,
Aphrodite, my poutana!’

You miss the "point" (such as it is) completely.

What else is new?

Like I said, you just don't get emo. In emo you don't "throw" lyrics. You miss the "point" (such as it is) completely.
Oh boo hoo I'm going to write an emo about how CS doesn't get emo. I'm so sad for the rest of my life that I will slit my wristband all day long.
Does anybody really care?

Now you get it.

I'm so sad for the rest of my life that I will slit my wristband all day long.
Wrist, not wristband... :rolleyes:

RHOD (rhyming haikus of dispair):


Uncalled for slander
Soils me like clothes in hamper
My tissue damper

Jocks are truly dumb
Lifting weights till their brain numbs
That's if they have one

I hate PE much
Get me out this hellish dump
I hope I don't flunk

Sadness governs me
I been molested daily
By society

Them crackers opress
Every ounce of my sweet breath
Till I have none left

My thin body weak
Scars across my back all week
The whip cuts me deep

Prozac do not work
It's f**king placibic dirt
My shrink is a jerk

My shrink really sucks
He do not STFU
Me thinks he on drugs

F**k f**k f**k f**k f**k
F**k f**k f**k f**k f**k f**k f**k
My zipper is stuck

I really hate prom
Rather eat grass off the lawn
I shall remain home

Every day the same
Sorrow engulfs me in flames
It's starting to rain

I just want to dance
But Gaia aint that advanced
No poses how sad

My tears have no end
As many repeated threads
I cry till I'm dead

How cruel such a loss
Poor lifeless animals tossed
I grieve as they rot

OMG. Nobody has put this nonsense trash talk out of misery yet? No offense, but don't think you can waltz around claiming you know what you are talking about, and not get doused and utterly humiliated by real lyricists.

The majority of song lyrics would be difficult to pass of as good written or spoken word. That's why they SING them ;) . There are exceptions to this rule however...

Anyway, I didn't say all emo lyrics are rubbish, I merely suggested that some would not be considered "good art" by my former teaching artists. I used the word lecture to suggest, ineffectively, that I knew my opinion would not be appreciated.

During parts of my life I have been surrounded by art snobs, and for better or worse they have rubbed off on me :shrug: .

I dare your former ugly teaching artists to battle the top of the meter
When they see me ride out the speakers they take they *ss hiding under the bleachers
I'm all about this game aint a motherf**ker that could f**k with me
My lyrics more wicked than anything ever been written from the beginning to ending of history
And that's on the moherf**king real aint a gay poet could see this raw gangsta shit
Accelerated the riddim the levels I'm hitting is ripping them limits like missles
You claiming that they taught you and you claiming they legit
You all so garbo it don't even take nothing for me to bury all of yall in a emo pit.

No you didn't murder her.
*checks pulse* no i'm very much alive


I dare your former ugly teaching artists to battle the top of the meter
When they see me ride out the speakers they take they *ss hiding under the bleachers
I'm all about this game aint a motherf**ker that could f**k with me
My lyrics more wicked than anything ever been written from the beginning to ending of history
And that's on the moherf**king real aint a gay poet could see this raw gangsta shit
Accelerated the riddim the levels I'm hitting is ripping them limits like missles
You claiming that they taught you and you claiming they legit
You all so garbo it don't even take nothing for me to bury all of yall in a emo pit.
Are you trying to freestyle??? You know, freestyling is only cool if it's spoken.


July 22, 2004 - The Real Reason
- Look for the reprint of this poem and Tara's essay about this poem in the archives from October 1, 2005 at shopliftwindchimes.com.

The real reason you left is a question mark,
a comma with a crazy pause bent on gangsta lean
against the walls of my brain, an ellipsis
where every pregnant pause is abandoned.

No room is left in the well for wishes, just
enough water to be quenched
with dreams of stones
that hold water within
cemented congregation.

The reason you left is a sealed envelope,
a pot too hot to touch, a linch pin that
would crash the whole machine if I pulled it.
Why even ask for the reason?

When a chime through a litany of w's
does not count any of the ways
a mirror loves me, the number of smiles
collected in a day
like shells gathered in a pail?

Words litter the side of my bed
hollowed out on the left side.
This mouth down to my feet is
all sugar cane so the reason never mattered.

~Tara Betts http://www.tarabetts.net

That is art I sit awe filled from.

*checks pulse* no i'm very much alive
Are you really sure?
People have been known to lie to further their own agenda.

You telling me what's cool is like a quadrapalegic telling Bruce Lee how to kick
I bury your ugly face in a ditch with these rhymes that you won't never get with
Sorry to break it to you but you did got so damn murdered
Your pulse aint sh*t but a reflection of my lyrical reverb
Your silly bullsh*t link don't mean a f**k sh*t thing
I place my bets that Tara Betts get left like the rest
Who try to f**k with me when it come to these raw a** sets

lixluke use of the f word is like a stamp of his assets

The winners:
Tabla Riddim
One Raven

The loser:
Lixluke a.k.a. CS
I'm sorry, but Emo's generally don't talk about MCs and crackers. Emo is this annoying crap on the radio that is sort of pop-punk stuff. Lyrics like: "And the record won't stop skipping/And the lies just won't stop slipping" or "you almost always pick the best times/to drop the worst lines/you almost made me cry again this time" or "Some days I wonder/Most days, just cry" That is a sort of more typical emo. You know, fall out boy, dashboard confessional, the used, ect.

July 22, 2004 - The Real Reason
- Look for the reprint of this poem and Tara's essay about this poem in the archives from October 1, 2005 at shopliftwindchimes.com.

The real reason you left is a question mark,
a comma with a crazy pause bent on gangsta lean
against the walls of my brain, an ellipsis
where every pregnant pause is abandoned.

No room is left in the well for wishes, just
enough water to be quenched
with dreams of stones
that hold water within
cemented congregation.

The reason you left is a sealed envelope,
a pot too hot to touch, a linch pin that
would crash the whole machine if I pulled it.
Why even ask for the reason?

When a chime through a litany of w's
does not count any of the ways
a mirror loves me, the number of smiles
collected in a day
like shells gathered in a pail?

Words litter the side of my bed
hollowed out on the left side.
This mouth down to my feet is
all sugar cane so the reason never mattered.

~Tara Betts http://www.tarabetts.net

That is art I sit awe filled from.

Well, if we are going to talk real poetry, then I have the ultimate emo poem right here.

The Edge - Sylvia plath

The woman is perfected.
Her dead
Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.
Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little
Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded
Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the gardener
Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.
The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.
She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.

Beat that! This is so emo that she killed herself 4 days later.

Beat that! This is so emo that she killed herself 4 days later.

A whole 4 days? Somebody must have done better than that.

A whole 4 days? Somebody must have done better than that.

yeah, thats like...not that emo. I mean 4 days is a lot.

Yeah. I killed myself BEFORE I wrote mine.

Yeah. I killed myself BEFORE I wrote mine.

yeah, thats emo big time.

yeah, but I bet your's sucked. Dead people aren't generally renowned for their poetry skills...

do you guys all hate emos? they are strange, but interesting to look at