I sit in bed, my hair, ruffled and undone, eyes blurry
from lack of sleep, while I wonder what to say. Searching
the farthest depths of my mind, for as far as I can fathom
for as long as I can, I search within, for what to say to move
you, to laughter or to tears, serenity or despair, hope or a sense
of loss, deep within the pit of your stomachs, that moves you to
tears, some shed some not, while you stare at my last and final
lines and touch with your index finger, shaking, or click with your
pad or mouse, a small icon, down at the bottom of your screen,
the bottom of the poem, that indicates so much, that brings so much
joy, at so very little effort on your part, all you who have glanced at my
poetry and, deeming it mediocre, have moved on, even as the lines and syllables of my heart and lessened soul fall from your attentions, and fade from your hearts. I am reaching now, reaching far within myself,
for the courage to spit these words out onto this glowing screen, late at night, with the promise of an early dawn visible on my small clock, green letters glowing like some poisonous chemical, mixed with the sewage of a rotting city and the vileness of all the cruel and hateful thoughts, uttered and imagined by all of mankind, within our short and devastating history. I have found it. I beg you now, all of you, all who merely glance at this, my desperate plea to all of you, out there in the shifting nothingness of cyberspace, to please, like or comment, tell me my work is ****, and that I should drown myself in the nearest roadside ditch rather than write again, for at least I would know, at least I would feel that my work elicits something from you, and that I at least, am not as great a failure as a writer, as a poet, as I am coming to believe. I beg you now, with all my heart and screaming soul, with all the rage and fury and bitter tears unshed you have elicited from my tired soul, read and comment, and like if you may, for I am tired of being ignored, and of the deep and lonely feeling of being alone and forgotten, unnoticed and uncared for, due to the mediocrity of my work, though my heart were poured into it and my soul spent to give it life. I beg of you. And now, tired as I am, I will sleep, and dream and wake and sleep again, for anxiety and fear. And perhaps this too will go unanswered, unnoticed, lost amid the vastness of cyberspace, glanced at but not read, not searched for any subtle glimpse of meaning I, the writer may have hidden in these words for you and you alone, out of the thousand thousand people, authors and browsers, who may come and, if they deign to glance at it closer, never feel the exact same emotions, and feel the same thoughts as you will have, for you are you, and I am I, and for all our differences, and for all that we may be a world apart, or living nextdoor, we are connected, just as everyone, and everything is , in this world, in this life. Find meaning in that if you will. Ha. And now farewell. I hope that my words will be heeded, at least to some extent. But then, they probably won't, for all the bitter truths and all the pain and rage and fury written here for all to see, for none to see. Farewell.
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