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Poopgirl Poetry Hour

5 months ago
Hi, guys. i just found this beautiful poem.

Things you can change:


Your Beliefs
Your attitude
Your thoughts
Your perspective
How honest you are
Who your friends are
What books you read
How often you exercise
The type of food you eat
How many risks you take
How you interpret the situation
How kind you are to others
How kind you are to yourself
How often you say “I love you.”
How often you say “thank you.”
How you express your feelings
Whether or not you ask for help
How often you practice gratitude
How many times you smile today
The amount of effort you put forth
How you spend / invest your money
How much time you spend worrying
How often you think about your past
Whether or not you judge other people
Whether or not you try again after a setback
How much you appreciate the things you have

Poopgirl Poetry Hour

5 months ago
Oh, it's you again.
Very smart to make a ton of terrible posts first thing upon making a new account.
I dunno what to even suggest at this point, you clearly are incapable of learning, or writing anything of your own that isn't grocery store molestation and actual, literal poop.

Poopgirl Poetry Hour

5 months ago
Very gay, thanks for sharing

Poopgirl Poetry Hour

5 months ago

Well you certainly didn't change or else we wouldn't have known to ban you again so quickly.

Poopgirl Poetry Hour

5 months ago

The looming and haphazard shape of this poem
Reminds me of the contours I once saw way back when
I was a wee little boy in the fields of Wisconsin on a frigid
Springtime morn. How I frolicked from grass to grass between
The roads until I saw, stacked higher than I, the Colossus, its outline
Shaped not unlike the shape of your poem, ever so massive and casting no shadow
In the gray overcast sun. Covered in pale grass and exhaling steam like a dragon,
How it slept on the earth at the edge of my neighbor's farm, lumpen and megalithic, the
Size of a toolshed. My young eyes could not believe the sloughing mass. I ran from it at first,
For fear that the great wooly thing might move of its own accord. To the eyes of a wee Wisconsin
Child, this was a prehistoric creature, or a sleeping bridge-troll, disguised in the grass and corn wastage
That grew upon its back like moss on a sloth- Or an island on the back of a great whale. But it seemed
This visitor did not intend to move at all. And when I poked it with a stick, my eyes watered from the stink
And nearly did I vomit, for rather it appears that my young mind elected to make monsters from a massive and
Malignant mound of manure-- Rather than the harmless windmill, I had lanced a hill of cow crap, and on breaking its
Congealed and grassy hide, unleashed a beastly devil miasma that wounded my young nose and stuck to my small clothes and
Tormented my very dreams for days. Anyway that's just something I remember now. For whatever reason this poem reminded me of it.

Poopgirl Poetry Hour

5 months ago

Dammit, the posting space isn't wide enough and now the formatting is ruined. My poem doesn't look like a pile of shit anymore.

Poopgirl Poetry Hour

5 months ago