Chapters So Now I Have To Be "Stylish"?
Mom says I need to pick a pattern
and stick with it
But
how does she expect me to know
what is the right way
and the wrong way?
Mom says there is no wrong way
only wrong executions
But
how am I expected to learn
what is the wrong way
to execute things?
Mom says I shouldn't take that literally
or write all this down as we speak
But
wasn't writing all this down
supposed to be the point
in the first place?
Mom said that I did the title wrong
but I don't really care
Since there's only one other thing
(besides games)
that I really care about
And you probably wouldn't know
unless you read my diary
What it actually is
Okay, “it” is actually a “she”
but I was trying to stylish there
See, I can at least try, mom
at least I can write
sort of
But anyway
I never got around to writing
What it actually is
She is the most prettiest
and I don't really care
that I did the title wrong
because it still gets my point across
I see her all the time
with her friends
But I never get to say anything
because I'm always...
...um
I'm always busy
Yeah, that's it
So
mom said
that if I keep
writing in a way
like this, then I can
make shapes that look
like stuff
Too easy
There once was a colt from Hooftucket
Who found that he lost his bucket
He searched high and low
And holy crow was he slow
Until he gave up and said, "Buck it."
Oh, to be bored
Stiff as a board
So very bored
More bored than a board
But one does kinda wonder
about being bored
and boredom
How bored can a pony be?
Is there a limit
or is there a higher purpose?
Well, if there were more moms in the world
then there would probably have to be
Because no pony would ever allow
such crippling boredom to persist
unless there were
some higher purpose to it all
It could be some conspiracy
to keep us locked in boredom
render us weak to conditioning;
just like in that one game I played...
Vidya
Amazing, Joyful
Play, Trade, Love
Something I'd kill to have right now
Life
Only you, dear mother
of constant overwatch and attention
would bring
such damnation upon this house
such absence of joy
absence of life
Nothing is left to enjoy
All of them, gone
by your hoof
your voice
your authority
Oh, your oppression
Only you, dear mother
would deny me the right
the privilege
of enjoying life as we know it
where nothing else
could ever satisfy my boredom
Always there
Ever elusive
Never the right ones
Blue, red, yellow?
Orange, green, purple?
Lost that one, anyway
Can't find what I need
Guides without pictures
Are no help at all
You know what?
forget it; "old school"
is overrated, anyway
Life
It's a game
Where the AI cheats
Your opponents cheat
And even your friends cheat
Life
It's only a game
Where ponies rage over loss
And gloat over wins
While you just try to play
Life
It's just a game
Where you are never the hero
And we are all but NPCs
In another's overworld
Joyful and free, but no longer
Oh, how I long for your buttons
You were always so fun to play
But no longer, as you were taken
Oh, how I miss you now
You were always there for me
Coin in hoof
no other place to go
nor a chore to do
Walk inside
friends all around
none that I know
See the game
march up proudly to it
accept its challenge
Lose the game
not a problem at all
plenty of coins left
Win the game
greatest feeling ever
it asks, play again?
Lose the game
not a problem at all
we can't all be winners
Arcade closes
time to go home once more
nothing else to do
Arrive home
nothing else to do today
play chess with mother
Lose the game
it's a problem this time
you ask, play again?
Mom, Please Don't Read This
No, seriously
Please don't
I'm serious
Don't read this
Seriously
Why, oh why
when I look up your name
on the so-called web
all I see
is you
and me?
I Was Told To Write A Title Here
This is so boring
I don't even know what to write here
Nothing to write about
when there is nothing to think about
and nothing worth thinking about
Now she tells me to write down my feelings
For what, then?
I'm obviously quite mad at her
and think she's a stupidface--
And now she's mad at me, too
Oh well
What goes around comes around, mom
And
apparently
splitting
words
like
this
is supposed
to be
“stylish”
Okay, so don't do it too much, then
Well
How was I supposed to know that?
Poetry doesn't make any sense
This is so boring
Oh, Sweetie Belle
You were
The most prettiest, in my eyes
But now
You are so much more
For a while
You were
More than meets the eye
And now
There is so much more
Maybe it is the eyes
Green and shimmering as they are
Or it could be the mane
Which is really like, by the way
But at the end of it all
I'm more than certain it's just you
Oh, Sweetie Belle
Always with your friends
And your sister, too
Always having so much fun
Bored as I am, Sweetie Belle
Watching you and your friends
Play your games, and
Always enjoying your lives
Maybe it's your personality
Bubbly and cheerful as it is
I really don't know what about
Makes me admire you so
But at the end of it all
I'm more than certain it's just you
