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Anais Vionet Jun 2020
You’ve stopped talking to me and I don’t know why...

I hate this - this feeling - this anguish, with it’s retinue of mysteries.

Was it something I said? I’m sorry - I curse my rebel lips.

Was it something I didn’t say? I’m sorry - I was the unaware child.

I’m just a girl – not some faultless machine

There needs to be a manual – a manual for... everything - so Id know.

Is there a more contemporary narrative than disappointment at the hands of this Internet plaything - this toy-like trap we hope will inform us and we think we command?

I know questioning destroys some things.. but I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.
A poem about the mystery of rejection - it turns out I was overreacting =]   Oh, how rare =]
E Jun 2020
I am not
Just a random person
Because I have feelings
And opinions
Please respect me
And I’ll respect you
Just because we’re on the Internet
Doesn’t mean you have the right to attack me
Raylene Lu Jun 2020
i always feel so stuck, like there is this strange expectation of me, like i am not the person they are expecting, they are using, that they are searching for. Or perhaps i constantly feel like that towards everything. I belong, and yet i don't. people belong yet they dont.
constantly trying to beat others, yet never knew be friends with them was really the answer. I am not involving myself enough yet i never want to be. I try then act like I never tried, blame others for annoying me yet allow them to.
I use platforms as an escape from people yet show the same people as a way of being accepted straight after. I do things behind people's backs only to tell everything later. i want to be free yet i have no clue what of.i dont know what is trapping me, but i just know it is. im writing things for myself only to tell them to others.
i message people and they finally reply, then only to feel abandoned again. Things come and go, but never here forever or for very long.
i complain of eyestrain yet stare continuously at the screen like some kind of void for the stress and blame inside me.
Pepperdust Jun 2020
It's interesting to find solace in the arms of a cloud.
I want my thoughts to be recorded and expose my heart behind a glass wall.
I want to be seen but never touched
Yet, I don't comment on the footprints I leave everytime I decide to walk online.
Maybe I don't want to be exposed
but found.
Themanwithaplan Jun 2020
Sometimes I'll write a poem
Just because I want to say something
But don't know if anyone will listen
If it isn't wrapped in intricate flowery language

Art the great communicator
The end result of our need for autonomy
and dependence on community
Coming to a head
A sort of proof of purpose
It's our way of insisting we're doing more
than just screaming into the void

Which is kind of arrogant in a cosmic sense
But I'm not cosmic
and the closest I ever got was a Lisa Frank jigsaw puzzle

There's a weird spot online
A video that plays an extended cut of a Nintendo song
The title in Japanese
That's not the weird part though
Viewers across the world have found it so strange
This random video suggested to them
That it must be a  sign
Each person a main character on their quest
The comments a tavern of stories of people sharing their journeys
They call it the Internet Checkpoint

Many would say this is just people assigning undeserved value to randomness
But I say people in general
and artists specifically
Don't imagine meaning
We define it

So I say be arrogant
Create and scream the meaning to life
Ride that neon rainbow
and say what you have to say
kiran goswami May 2020
I posted a picture on the internet today,
after handpicking the best of all.
While she is left with no choices,
so she walks on the roads that burn
carrying herself upon her feet that bleed.

I took my camera and checked up the lighting,
as I wanted the picture to look 'natural' and 'candid'.
A cameraman rushes to her to click a picture
as he is a magazine photographer searching for stories real.

I sweated and protested about the scorching heat
while I set up my camera.
She wipes the sweat off her father's forehead
on which the glabellar lines cease to exist,
while hers is carrying the roots and branches of it.

I held books in my hand to strike a pose
as my fingers laid in front,
whose nails I painted yellow for this summer.
She holds the handlebars of her bicycle she can no more hold or paddle,
her nails have painted themselves with the colour of mud.

I clicked too many pictures for me to count or recall.
Even after thousands, she remembered how many miles is home.


I captioned my picture
'No more lonely quarantine',
She hardly knows alphabets or words to even ask for help.

I swiped from filter to filter
selecting an 'aesthetic' one.
She drinks the pitch-black liquid,
they tell her is water,
without even demanding for 'cleaner' one.

I finally edited and made a perfect picture,
with my wide grin sealed with a gloss,
And the cameraman too asks for her to smile for once.
She with her deserted lips forms a curve that makes the cameraman frown.

He deletes the picture from his camera
as it would be disliked by all,
It got 1.9k likes,
The picture I posted on the internet today.
Oskar Erikson Apr 2020
saw             a                smile
caught on the c h a n n e l s
of the WiFi
like      w a v e s                    goodbye
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