Aim: Write a poem using the ideals of the Metaphysical poets in the late 1800’s. Try to include allusions to both ancient mythology and contemporary artists/literature/etc.
Dear Miley Cyrus,
You’re as likeable as a virus,
You need some buns on you, hun,
‘Cos curvy girls are a lot more fun,
I am an object of bodily desire,
A ripe pear, not a matchstick liar.
Slim enough I may not be
So I won’t be nominated on MTV,
Yet you they choose
Who acts like one of my black boo’s
All without a care for our real issues.
So what if you dislike me?
Likability ain’t the key
But jabbering to the paps
Honey, you should be hiding beneath yo cap!
You’re a teenage rebel without a cause,
You say you fightin’ the stigma of a whore,
But, honey, your stunt with Robin Thicke?
You deserved to have yo ass kicked!
Your daddy let you run loose,
Dabbling in demolitions and booze,
You really think that’ll cause a coupe?
Me? I did not fuck Wayne or Drake,
I didn’t leave no flabbergasted Will Smith in my wake,
I dominated this musical business
Without having to slander ’n kiss ass,
The anacondas slide in tight
Next to me. They don’t worry about fights,
I am higher than you, mo-fucker,
Lookin’ like a strap-on hooker,
I ain’t strange nor am I a clone,
My pow’ful gaze will turn you to stone,
That is if you ain’t already stoned!
The New Age waif is out of shape,
Yo time is out; the hourglass is taking shape,
The Girl from the Block is an icon of sex,
What? Are you vexed?
You try to rap, you try to twerk,
But you forget to let the music work,
You are no idol; someone to copy
No 150,000 dollar desired body,
Myself and my girl Bey are flawless
Whilst you consider yourself lawless
On-stage with that flag was completely awe-less.
Yes, we both wear revealing clothes,
But at least I don’t stoop as low,
By my side is my baby papa
I am his baby mamma,
Stare in awe as I keep my man
Unlike you who has to see shit hit the fan;
Guess we’re back to Thicke; he wasn’t a win —
Clear yo real man was angry at thick and thin,
Watch him run from your post-teen woe
Basking in your dildo-weilding glow,
So; Miley, what’s good?
Line Count: 55
Photograph taken from Getty Images: MTV // Daily Mail Article