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Someone Was Mean About Kristen Stewart's Poem, So We Wrote A Poem About It

When a 23 year old girl writes a poem, she tends to be a little pleased with herself. She shows her friends, she shows her boyfriend, and if she’s an international movie star, she shows a journalist from Marie-Claire.

It’s hardly a surprise that Kristen Stewart is the poem-writing sort, and hats off to whatever kind-faced journo coaxed her poem “My Heart is a Wiffle Ball/Freedom Pole” out of her during an interview.  Among other publications, The Independent decided that it was absolutely necessary and totally newsworthy to publish a series of insults about the actress, framed under the charming headline “Twilight star writes worst poem of all time”. They rounded off the piece with (and again, news, this is a newspaper with news in it) a gallery of  other celebrities who are guilty of “writing really terrible poetry and thinking it might actually be good.” Because galleries are good for pageviews, guys!

I could rant about this all day, but real-life journalist and actual nice person Daisy has taken the time to write a poem of her own to The Independent. Polo necks and bongo drums at the ready, people.

Kubla Snark, by Daisy Buchanan 

Dark dark dark,

Down in the ground like a hole, a hole torn asunder, spunking black matter

An asshole

An asshole with evil intent

The independent

Mean like a spleen spewing bile

Bile about a young girl

A millionaire girl with a sulky face who likes trainers

Were you ever a child?

Did you never, like Sylvia Plath in the bath have a laugh with an eerily emo riff rhyming hate with date with MATE? with obliterate?

Were you never a virgin who lusted for different strange men, carving hearts in your arm with a ballpoint pen

Your tear stained face gleaming as you stood, half naked in the hallway, renting the air with sobs as you screamed

“MUM! Of course we can get Bic biro out of my school shirt, put some Vanish on it!”

Did you too, like Kirsten, once roll words around your mouth because it felt good, words were the truth and a drug

Then you got off your grad scheme and worked with a total arse of a sub

Who wrecked your clever, clever joke based on the imperial measurement system

And pursing their lips suggested you might like to read the style guide

You then wasted three hours on a shit pun about kilograms.

Are you better now, or bitter?

It sounds like the latter

Suspect you’d be sweeter, not scathing, not snakelike, hiss, diss, dissmissssssss Krisssssssssten

If you took a course at City Lit
And smiled a bit.

About Work In Prowess

Work in Prowess is the ravings of a mad king left to rot in a besieged palace


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