By Wesley Adams
Denizens of Plastic City,
What has led you here?
To this region of delusion
Where you’ll never see or hear
A different side.
Where everyone’s just like you,
Tailor-made, perfect in your eyes.
You only want an unreality
A world where you will never see
An inkling of a flaw in me
Because you show no empathy
There cannot be a reason for me
To be the way I am.
No one is still growing,
This is no one’s first time
If no one can achieve character growth
Then call me No One cause I’m trying.
For someone who’s from Plastic City
I see no plasticity in your mind.
You’ll go and search for others who fit
The Plastic Paradigm
Ready to go and turn against
The ones who don’t align.
So, unless you lose this rigid way of thinking,
A plastic funeral will commemorate your time.
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Denizens of Slopville,
Can the marble of your minds
Even begin to understand
The meaning of my rhymes?
I marvel at your complacency
How are you satisfied?
You seek no deeper gratification,
Only the easiest road in life.
See, in Slopville, they have teachers
Who teach slop to their kids,
Preach the gospel of studying slop,
And turning more slop work in.
They have robots that make lesson plans,
And robots to do grading
It’s a new kind of human centipede
With robots in the front line,
Consuming everything we’ve ever made
And the Slopvilians eat it like it’s fine.
Is the Slopville mascot an Ouroboros?
I’m certain that it is.
I hope the people of Slopville
Will soon realize,
That producing slop is not creative.
Every day I hope and pray that Slopville
Will collapse
That everyone will pack up
And leave sloppy footprints as their tracks.
I choose to believe that Slopville
Is just a temporary plague
One which we will overcome,
And wake up to cleaner days.