Kiwi Farms

Hi gorls,

as we all know, Amber's incredible poetry puts the great masters to shame. Donne is done. Frost is lost. Shakespeare? Not here.

Reading her magnificent poetry about cream cheese and maggots on trains has made me realise the problem with the poetry of the great masters: the poems aren't about Amber. To that end, I've compiled this thread to house all the artistic offerings of myself and other Amberwatchers.

Please submit your own artistic offerings celebrating our gorl!

I've improved a few poems, mostly by W. B. Yeats, by changing the subject matter slightly to make it about our gorl and her coterie of misshapen homosexuals. I know I am massively autistic, so no need to point it out!

Here's my first one, based on Yeats' The Second Coming, with an epic reading by forum user I Hate Myself.

The Second Helping

Whining and moaning in the widening sweatpants
The Becky cannot hear the Amberlynn
Things fall apart; the waistband cannot hold
Mere FUPArchy is loosed upon the world,
The beetus-dimmed hide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of insulin is drowned;
The breasts lack all definition, while the waist
Is full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Helping is at hand.
The Second Helping! Hardly are those words out
When a vast lesbian out of Spiritus Mukbang
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of Kentucky
A shape with circular body yet the breasts of a man,
A gaze blank and witless as the sun,
Is moving its huge thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant housemates.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty videos a day of stony sleep
Were vexed to hugeness by a gravy ladle,
And what rough gorl, her hour come round at last,
Scooters towards Walmart to be born?