Welcome to the first installment of Poetry for Millennials, in which the trials and tribulations of the Wi-Fi generation are written in the style of our favorite poets, playwrights, and childhood authors. Let us begin with William Shakespeare. I present to you, O readers, Sonnets About Sexting.
Anti-Ode To Mine Imagery Unclothéd
Oh god agh shit ass balls my lord aww fuck I fear that I have made a grave mistake. One never should attempt to test their luck When high ground with one’s exes is at stake. O how could I have thought it keen or wise To pull up every contact in my phone? And scrolling through the roster of hot guys Think texting them would make me less alone? If only the reception had been weak, The mirror pics of my hind-quarters safe Up in the Cloud, for some hacker to seek Not sent direct to motherfucking Rafe. First, god I curse. Next up: AT&T. What carrier? You never carried me!
The Textual Drunkard
Ohhh not again, agh shit, I’m such a mess Bright morn reveals the blemish ’pon my soul. (No, not the Straw-Ber-Rita® on my dress— Though that will be a mark the fabric holds.) O stain more foul than any liquor’s dye That leaves both heart and gut in turbulence! Why play on boozy loop before mine eyes, Reminding me my blunder’s permanence? As babes, we learn forgiveness doth abound. Like injured starfish, virtue can re-grow. But soon such lessons are in vodka drowned, And sins committed ne’er shall He revoke. “Twas but a sext!” friends shout. “’Tis only Chad!” Then silence, reading: Message sent… to Dad.