Archive of ‘English 9’ category
I think as teenagers, we are pressured. We feel a need to fit in, to look good, and maybe even feel good. But, a lot of us fall through the cracks, find ourselves unable to find our place, who we are, what we are, and that can make you feel alone. When it’s as if the world is pushing you away, when you feel like you don’t even matter. You want an outlet, maybe you find yourself surrounded by people who suddenly want to be your friend, or maybe it seems like you have it all, and you choose this not as an outlet- but to look cool. There are so many reasons teenagers- we, chose to do drugs, or to drink, but really in the end, the only reason I think someone would chose to do this, is because they want something. Drugs and alcohol are shown as something “cool”, or just “normal” in so many movies. So, we inherently have attached a sort of normal to doing these things. You want to fit in, you want to look cool. I honestly don’t think that it’s always the people doing drugs who make others do them to. I think that we push ourselves into it. We see others doing it, so we’ll want to, to then. If somebody bought a shirt, and then suddenly what seemed like everyone else had that shirt, you’d probably want that shirt too, so you could fit in, and not miss out. I think that the fear of missing out is also a factor. You don’t want to be the one who got left out, or miss out on some experience that’s “so fun”, or “so cool”. We all have problems, curiosity, fear- happiness even. But we all have different situations, different problems, fears, curiosity, happiness even, and that’s what decides whether drugs or alcohol become a part of who we are or not- we choose, we decide.
Visual Aspect – We are the visual aspect of the concept of my poem –https://www.visualnews.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/We-never-look-up-phone-3-e1357704685109.jpg%5B/caption%5D
Slam Poem For The Veldt:
- What I have lost:
There was once we loved. We felt lust, touch, of a certain many of us.
Soft mothers voices, once cooed and calmed,
But now, we rest to the caress of a machine’s song.
Fathers once taught, though their love was not.
But rather, felt, as though you might melt at it’s astounding must.
We no longer are at that poisonous state.
Love is no more than a mere mistake.
We have programs now, that design lust.
To give us touch, but to what extent can we trust?
Elders once gave, they’re stories away, sharing their might, with what is now spite.
Now we are no more than a machine’s game.
A way to say we no longer pay.. attention.
We now forget what we knew, a world where what was voice, is now to text.
A world where we had not need for the new upgrade, or the newest Imac.
I-touch, yes we-touch. We have forgotten our history.
We have cleared it one to many times, we have forgotten our minds.
Left them behind, in trade for our new robot kind.
“Mom, Billy’s gone.”
Do not worry.
The machine answered for mom.
Billy’s clone will soon come.
Our media machine will not stop, leaving behind those who are not taught.
Those who are not taught how to pose, to know what social-status quo.
Those who have risen, who have tried to leave their prison, are our target of machine ammunition.
We once saw friends as those whom we spoke.
But now, we can have 468 of which we don’t know.
Our machine minds are which we run on.
We once had facial features, which are now but a recognition system, or only a machine vision.
We have made a decision for collision, deceived of a belief.
We are oppressed, distressed, by an intelligence we have not yet met.
A disobedience, a lack of ingredients but instead, a meaningless greediness.
We have forgotten our voices, along the way, trading them in for our new robot way.
We are all one of the same, no longer looking at our places of fray.
We are no longer love, pain, happiness, or worry, but just an emoticon, shown by our profile’s notification.
Our media is a game of tag, of empty likes, fulfilled by careless swipes.
We choose whom we like, by seeing their pose whilst hiding our woes.
We are depicted and seen through our clothes.
We have forgotten who we are, now only a machine rather than seeing a human being.