In the new bright halls of Hello Poetry,
I wander like a guest who misplaced the map.
I tap a heart -- oh look, I’ve loved myself,
and liked myself too, twice, without meaning to.
Self‑esteem by interface, accidental but sincere.
I repost a poem I already wrote,
and suddenly it blooms again on my own page,
a twin I didn’t ask for,
a ghost of a thought I already had.
My words multiplying like startled rabbits.
Sprinkles, Stars, Boards, Votes!
a constellation I cannot chart.
Are they currency, compliments, cosmic dust
or simply glitter tossed in the air
to see who sneezes first?
I nod politely at the chaos
and pretend I understand the weather.
And somewhere in the corner,
a quiet wish:
to toss a coin in the jar,
to keep the lights on,
to say thank you with something sturdier
than a confused click.
But the door marked “Support Us”
is locked, or missing, or imaginary.
Still, I stay.
Because even in this maze,
my poems find me,
and I find them,
twice, sometimes --
and that feels like home
in its own peculiar way.