Blog by Alyssa Abell

 I found my facebook equal, sir
 my blog, like tailored westwood.
The followers are amorous, sweet,
individualism understood.

 I've used my skills,
humor, poetry, and art.
I was appreciated, praised,
food for artist's soul and heart.

I am learning how to be myself,
despite what others may want.
I am learning to love me for me,
ignoring what others may taunt.

Tumblr, I have made many friends,
all across this globe, connected.
We all share commonalities,
and now we aren't alone, protected.

We are nerdy, and body positive,
political activist, feminist, stand tall.
Accepting, loving, fighting on,
to make the world better for all.


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 Song

by Randall Mann

I found my muster station, sir.

My skin is patent leather.

The tourists are recidivists.

This calm is earthquake weather.

I’ve used up all the mulligans.

I’d kill to share a vice.

The youngster reads a yellowed Oui.

The socialite has lice.

The Europe trip I finally took

was rash and Polaroid,

was gilt, confit, and bathhouse foam.

And I cannot avoid

the end: I will not die in Paris,

won’t rest for good behind

a painted mausoleum door.

The purser will not find

me mummified beneath your tulle,

and Paris will not burn.

Today is Thursday, so I’ll die.

Come help me pick my urn.