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Emos In The Wild
Part II - The Poetry of xJARENxMANATEExENDANGEREDxCOREx

Poetry is perhaps the most important characteristic of a true emo. Without poetry, New Found Glory CDs and incredibly tight jeans, emos are nothing but pussy goths. To a MySpace emo, poems are like trading cards. They are paraded around, traded and commented on. On MySpace, even the very worst poems can generate pages of praise from like-minded nutbars. And when you talk of the very worst poems, one only has to look to our good friend Jaren for a treasure trove of emo. Yes, a tremosure trovemo.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, the Poetry of xJARENxMANATEExENDANGEREDxCOREx.



Obviously due to the high demand from libraries and universities, Jaren has put all of his poems in one easy to find spot - a blog on his MySpace. We begin with his 'fav one ive written', a three-part epic called '12:58pm'.

It is written like a conversation between two emo lovers, full of haunting questions like 'Do you have the keys to the hotel?', 'Why are you such a broken radio?' and perhaps the finest line of the poem - 'Is there such thing as an alleyway?'. Indeed Jaren, is there such thing as an Alleyway? Who are we to judge what is and is not an Alleyway, sitting in our ivory towers drinking our herbal tea. You truly are a literary genius.

12:58pm ends with one of the emo lovers commiting suicide. Surprise surprise. I've seen less predictable episodes of the Power Rangers. In the poem, the jilted lover curses the Gods for their predicament, before ending it all by jumping into the void. If only that happened before he wrote the poem.

I won't go through every poem, because we'd all be jumping into the void once I was done. Instead, I will construct a poem using the very worst lines from Jaren's. I call it the xJARENxMANATEExENDANGEREDxCOREx Mix-Tape.

In the spring
Plants sprout from her pores
Butterflies come out her eyes
Is there anybody out there
To watch the crickets fight

Little boys with little dogs
Small boys with small toys
Big boys with small rooms
The smell of the ocean on my doorknob
The smell of starfish on your sandals

In the urban
Where cicadas eat man
He sits on his roof
Looking for his lighthouse
He calls himself the iceberg
And love is his titanic
And they both shared a love of ballpoint

you can sleep on the motorcycle

Positively moving. It is a testament to his skill as a poet that even a random connection of lines can speak more truth than the entire canon of published literature. Jaren challenges our assumptions about life and love. We CAN sleep on the motorcycle. Butterflies DO come out our eyes. And yes, small boys DO have oh so small toys. (Unless they're black.)

We end our sojourn into this beautiful collection with Jaren's final poem, and perhaps his most controversial. He wrote it to 'make a girlfriend feel loved'. And according to Jaren, it is so controversial that 'VIEWERS UNDER 14 STEP BACK'

:O

Could this finally be the erotic emo poem I've been searching for?

Could this be...


emorotica?

Let's take a look...

Theres too much hair in my eyes
Everythings wet
In an empty park next to the most pitiful creek ever
Just wanting to fit in

Everything's wet, this is an excellent start. We'll skip the next part about how their teenage love interrupted the flow of a creek into the ocean. Because along with granting you the power to slash your wrists, teenage love can have an extensive geographical impact.

Id rather drink you
Then water
You're the sexiest thing ive ever tasted
Like licking sex
But still not ready to taste love

Hey Sex, whats up man

Oh nothing much just HEY GET OFF ME MAN WTF!! WHAT YOU LICKING ME FOR?!

Sorry

I never want it to end
I wanted the concrete to freeze
Clocks to suffer heart attacks
And live in your laughter
And in your bed

Now he's getting greedy. He wants an already-solid substance to freeze, and then he wants to give a clock an entire circulatory system, THEN give it a heart attack. Do these fantasy clocks have really bad diets? What is he feeding these clocks? And how do they eat?

Woah, this concrete is pretty hard, it's frozen rock solid.

All over you
I want your tongue in my mouth
Your sun in my morning
And my key in your door
And our bodies keep sweating

HEHE HIS KEY IS HIS PENIS HEHE

You are my sugar pill
My ecstasy
You are perfect
Night makes your skin glisten
And makes my tears joyful

He loves his bad analogies like a monkey loves a walrus. His poems are so confusing, like a baby eating electric tape. His rhymes are non-existant, like a drop of water in frozen concrete.

And I swear I love you more
And ill scream your name
And ill scream I love you
Until my veins collapse
And everyone whoever doubted you begins to weep

And ill never use apostrophes, because that takes time and then I wouldn't be young and emo anymore.

When they realize they've lost the most beautiful thing in the world
You make me feel safe
And feel like I matter
And I always want to matter
And I don't want to look both ways before crossing the street
Don't ever let me lose that
Just don't be scared..

Gee, I wonder why she's scared of you, cockspank. Maybe it's because you told her you want to lick her sex. Maybe it's because you don't look both ways when you cross the street and she's scared a car will hit her. Or maybe it's because she has a phobia of really, really bad poetry.

Having read that emo tripe, I can't believe I'm going to do this, but in Part 3 of Emos In The Wild...



Tommy is going undercover

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