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, because, I mean, he invented the human. I present to you, O readers of Fartbook.org:

Sonnets About Sexting

Medieval girl texting

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!

final-spiral-repeated

 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.