Market My Manic Melancholia for Mother Earth


Initially I was a Marketing Major

Set up to learn in the prestigious

Isenberg School of Management

Where I would become an aspiring businesswoman

Where I would first change physically

In the way I sported my style

Goodbye, personalized wardrobe

These articles once carefully collected

Built up for many occasions and just because

But now I would have to reluctantly welcome

A new array of bland uniforms

Tweed suits and painstaking heels

That gave an impression

Of a stiff, uptight woman

Who slaves over projects for products I may not even support

These projects would be made at first in a claustrophobic cubicle

Feeding the demonic force

That fuels our consumer's enthusiasm

And greed to inspire one to feel a need to achieve

The next new innovation, our marketed creation!



Imagine, education in manipulation

...But no, it's a reality, an actual major

Teaching kids with very malleable minds themselves

To twist and tweak an idea so it instills a sense of value

That a buyer just has to have.

A simple apple on our computers

Or a design that is advertised

On the cheeks of our buttocks

Like most males would even guess

How much those designer jeans really cost

And if they really made your butt look better?

Well we may never know

But at least you feel fulfilled with your purchase, I'd hope

It was worth it.

Brands give satisfaction

Or a sense of security


Initially I was a Marketing Major

And you were so proud

That gleam in the retina display of your eyes

In which held your vision for my future

"Business is everything"

"One can market anything"

"Do you want to try on one of my pencil skirts?"

Bah! Like my waist is as miniscule as yours to begin with!

It is the same waist that every manipulated girl dreams for

Her own visions fueled by

Malnourished models on TV

Featured in magazines & plastered on Billboards

So that each time she drives into work

Or opens the latest issue

Or sits down to watch her favorite show

That tiny waist

Held in place by wider hips

And thin, long legs

With a photoshopped face

And a sickening smile

So contagious it is her secret

To catch her illness

But if that goal is too far fetched

She can always buy her looks

The clothes she models

A phone she must call all of her

Godly friends on

Or maybe her physical structure quite literally

With the help of a sickened surgeon.


Initially I was a Marketing Major

Today I study Environmental Design and the Environmental Sciences

I've escaped the deadly epidemic

That robs people of their creativity, confidence and cash

Although I can't say I'm fully immune

The demonic beast is quite the burden

His virus still lurks inside the cells

Of the tainted parts of my mind

I try to kill them with selfless thoughts

Caring for Mother Earth

Who is ill herself, though in another sense

In a way where she is not

Making herself sick

In a bathroom stall

Heaving up what would spawn

Rolls of bellyfat

Inhibiting any chance of getting that waist

No, this is a different debilitating disease

It's strictly environmental and the root of this, you ask?

Just take a look in the reflection

Of your radiation brewing smartphone.

I'll be waiting for the call

When my own wish is granted

And you will praise me

For not being a Marketing Major.


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