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Oh how the plastic people shine so dimly...


Iconic Plastic – Poetry

By Kaitlyn Karol






appearing shiny and skinny,

but a dull, pudgy porker

mama forker,

knife-wielding and spoon-fed

on a plate of processed lies

and synthetic dyes,


holy roller

hair-roller, rolled tight against

the scatter-brained head –

not so elastic


from being force-fed

Void, empty ideas rolled ‘round glossy, full hair

lifeless and flat, without curl or flair

twisted into knots without proper furl or care

rolling down the super info highway in super speed

but without the right information engine

or proper 'search' lead

and offering so much dead seed

not even born yet,

a history that is still-born,

no style,

no fuel to ever fly the right jet!


A retarded embryo

as unnatural and clichéd as a GMO-infected 

fruit loop or cheerio;

a sly and uncouth


trying to pick through the comedy of mediocre slapstick,

with tasteless lipstick that is oh so “Fantastic” --

f’ed-up, fed up, asterisks, slick-as-trick’s holes,

a dyslexic and third-grade reader who never knows

never interpreting the subtext

of the sub-cultural sub set,



off-and-on's and on-and-off's,

why don’t you just get off

the cursed train,

the damned bus


(bite-the-arse c-face bucks!
and buck-teethed, baby-faced mama's baby cucks!)


Scream queen in a dumb hipster's wet dream,

cheering on the lame and the gender-battling 'team-mean'

chewing up the purest of the 'team-kind' scene

cheating on the real and the authentically clean

while lying perfectly dead

in her glamorous casket-made,

slut and smut dread,

covered with the quilt of the guilt

and smothered by her own gut-instinct-failed

gut-smothered bed


Stereotype, Part 1:

Scenario dyke -

feigning to be gay and short

when she is as straight and tall as a tower,

acting as if she's modest,

all the while drunk on false power


Stereotype, Part 2:

Stereo speakers -

always playing the wrong freaking freak bass song!

crazy lazy crawling cry-baby

so naïve and so righteously wrong

like a madd hatter mafia princess

who smiles desperately and frowns passionately as she sings along,

always sliding through with a slipper's slippery moves

encouraged by the double-dice gambling daddy who made her,

manufactured with big-name patented sneakers

but never the right grooves,

always dancing to the wrong steps

and stepping over the rightful ‘wronged’


that are always on the wrong feet

“getting off on the wrong foot”

inserted into mouth from the back-end

of a bookend

that held books which never got read,

always pretending to be able to pretend


Long-live the suicided-soul of the queen bee

stumbling around on whore-bended knee!

begging to please be “liked” with two-faced Facebook glee

and making a fascinatingly sad mockery

of the public’s fascination with such masked cockery

oh, oh, my, what a Vivien Leigh sigh,

what a whipped-up whip-topping’s fluffy delight,

how pitiful really is this sad little plight?!

giving ‘way to the sell-out’s height,

in a sold-out game, short-changed with short-sight

but fall as they always do

and fall as they surely will

only a matter of time

for such an overdue,





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