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Jenie 2d
Say!
Insecurities rising,
jealousy over what we are not
and sometimes wish we could be;
Does it make us bad people
or just ordinary?
Say...
When we could harm
with easy pettiness, belittle or shut down
the glorious mountain-top creature
in an attempt to feel better
for a short while,
but worse
later,
how can we process,
how can we let it go through us,
without a word spoken,
when odds are,
and with luck maybe,
we will never be anything other?

- Write!
"Fame is an enhancer, but for everyone else's insecurities, and it just, basically it directs it all towards you, because they, like, I don't know, people like look at you differently. Like people you've been friends with for years, like the amount of people I don't speak to anymore just because it f.cking turned weird." Ed Sheeran
Shannon Oct 8
The ice I wear is silence.
As for diamonds, I don't own them.
The stone I choose is cold.
I save ruby for my lips.
I save swagger for my hips.
I save crystal for my gin.
And the only thing I age is grace.
As for me I grow divinity-
The sin in me,
is confidently rising as I walk into the room.
If I make you feel I'm naked
when your burden down with fur-
"What does he see in her?"
If I make you feel uneasy,
and hold him just so tighter
because my steps are lighter
although my thighs are trunks
like mighty oaks they hold me high
so I can match my Tiffany eyes
to the Tiffany sky.
Wear your silver, wear your gold.
And I'll wear nothing loud and bold.
How dare I not adorn.
Not care about your scorn?
I am the bracelet that wraps the wrist,
I am the earrings lazy laying.
Designers drape me in goddess garb
while your childish glitter is fraying.
I wear years like men wear watches-
Proud and vainly count the notches.
Watch me slither, watch me wander.
Helpless but to become fonder.
This is a statement about aging and social media and the eternal dialogue of women and value.
Goodbye kiss to the day I'll miss.
Put headphones on and select a song.
Down the cobblestones until further decision.
Division like the very fabric of football.
Could choose my normal route to The Square,
just four corners to take - a simple shape -
see proud flags made of organic thread,
all the colours I like will be on display. Although,
what if I head down Butcher Row instead?
Sure it's steeper down the shuts but
I fancy my luck out there today.

Before the leap, I see a wall
so opposite to my position, it's hostile.
How long have these concrete eyes watched on?
I'm terrified and contemplate calling in sick,
return to rich address and don't overthink.
Then in each direction, groups meet at the centre.
There's pointing and shouting and spit flying
into hair that's in flames and ignites more people
to march out deluxe doors left ajar
as kids peer through windows
above the obscenity.
Hesitate to whisper,
future back in that house,
until I see bricks change angle.

Thinking in pink.
Shout loud about my background.
Grab the handle of both sides.
Point my crooked nose at the stone:
'Let's climb this together.'
'Peace and love forever.'
Those at the back can't hear my speech.
But those really listening cheer and preach.
Reach for ladders or offer cupped palms.
Touch the top layer but get knocked off
by a flare thrown from out of nowhere.
Hunt the culprit while the victim burns.
Bodies clamber to sample some action
like a mound of sugar infested with ants.
Look back at my house in a peaceful daze.
Turn to the melee and see a knife in my face.
Poem #11 from my collection 'A Shropshire Grad'. It's 280 words about a certain social media website.
Technology,
You know me so well
I share everything with you first
You know everything about me
Things I might not even be aware about
You bring me to Utopia with each touch
A single swipe, and I get my cup of tea
But how bad could you be for me
I have increasingly decreasing attention
I am just a tool to you
A point to collect more data to sell
And sell away to manipulators
And attack me with new intelligence
I am always gullible
Technology, I can't live without you
I need you more than I thirst for water
why do you set out to destroy my entire race?
Jenie Sep 13
Self-promotion arena supplying for
social gatherings and family space,
at times useful mirror and judge onto the lives
of the untrue, the corrupted, the vicious,
at most theatre for public sacrifice by the rule of the thumb
with mercy at the hands of the pleb.

Samnites, secutores and retiarii fighting to the death,
noxii and damnati hacked in the man-made
monument built for entertainment,
barbarian combats in the name of munus,
lethal games on the tilt of a double-edged sword
serving political agendas and commercial must,
their successes encouraging others.

Youths sold, batches addicted
to the screen of civilization
erected to conceal and divert the eye,
to the glittering murderous show
permeating the four cardinal directions while
confusing children's moral compass,
morphed into unactive witnesses,
blood-thirsty enablers, wishful executioners,
as loved ones helplessly watch
the self-destructions, the stabbing cuts,
and hear the roars of beasts feeding,
the shouts of be-headings acclaimed.
A little over the top, possibly, but if we really look it is all there, with real damage done while we watch, and real damage going unseen while we watch the entertainment.
Each day, we carry our names through urban terrain.
For every letter laid out and shining atop the cityscape,
a thousand more become garbage scattered in darkness.
Yet I'm courted into thinking I'm on the right street
by algorithms selling dopamine down Sideways Alley.

Too soon after bearing my soul on the infinite scroll,
tourists flock and flap to get at the itch on my back.
Their words cut deep like plastic knives at a banquet.
Their hearts warm like the walls of an empty fridge.
Breadcrumbs left behind only lead to the trapdoor.

Those in luxury estates who threw paint on a throne -
their patches of land fertile and thriving up to the gates -
offer tips on organic growth that can build into empires,
while those packed in high-rise blocks act like bandits,
egos painted loud on knock-off flags hung to balconies.

What am I in this black hole of corrupted competition?
Views above the skyline only provide anxious thoughts.
Occasionally, I find answers in unseen neighbourhoods.
An outstretched hand holds a glass of chilled apple juice.
Now we go round each other's house to share fresh fruit.
Poem #8 from my collection 'A Shropshire Grad' focuses on social media.
Norman Crane Aug 25
Two posts emerged on my Facebook,
And sorry I could not peruse both
And be one user, long I stood
And scrolled down one as far as I could
To where it went into a long blockquote;

Then read the other, as just as shared,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was classy and about footwear;
Though as for that the likes there
Had rated them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
I believe with no comments written back.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever tap back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two posts emerged on my Facebook, and I—
I read the one less thumbed-up by,
And that has made all the difference.
Alex Aug 11
Thirty hours non - stop,
My weary eyes on a rectangular screen,
Trying all the guilt trips,
And it failed me to cease,
Just one scroll on,
But then I lied,
All these funny memes,
I lost the track of time,
'Thirty minutes more' i say,
It adds up the duration,
It adds up the lies,
I've never been better,
I am deteriorating myself,
With my gadgets, I became a freak.
Is Social Media, a bermuda triangle,
Hauling ourselves into the deep entangle.

That, unfortunately for a couple of likes from strangers, 
We overlook the likes of our own folks. 

The anxiety turns to frustration,
As it embraces anger in gestation.

The phase you reveal as a vent out,
Gradually stumbles the bond throughout.

The more you love the unknown appreciation,
The more you miss the love of real conversation.

Open up your hearts for the pire souls,
Who yearn to lean on you, so close.

Life with it's twists and turns,
Perpetually fixes the discerns.

Look around at the authenticity,
And leave behind the complexity.

For, you the epitome of tomorrow's inspiration,
Fly on, with adept determination.
A couplet is a pair of successive lines of metre in poetry. A couplet usually consists of two successive lines that rhyme and have the same metre.
Aaron LaLux Jul 13
Feeling claustrophobic doing emotional aerobics,
can’t breath so I take a breath and breath in,
and if you can’t be with the one you love,
then love the one you can be with,

time is precious,
can’t waste it,
even though I’m at this terminal,
feeling like a rebel that’s complacent,

typing on these keys,
like they could make a difference,
met Jay-Z and respect Alicia keys,
but this New York State of Mind is indignant,

feels like the world is ending,
feels like no one cares,
feeling like no one feels things,
feels like feeling don’t matter any more,

anyways,
you know what they say,
one moment you feel like you’re on top of the world,
the next moment that feeling goes away,

we’ve got pandemics,
we’ve got floods and fires,
we’ve got a worldwide lockdown,
we’ve got misdirected desires,

we’ve got not a lot left to believe in,
see people I know in the street,
and feel like,
I’ve got nothing to say to them,

dead inside,
still sparked and alive,
still I log on just to turn off,
but I’m not grabbed by anything online,

nothing is exciting,
nope nothing at all,
so I try to drown out my anxieties,
with orange juice and alcohol,

wishing I knew which directions to go in,
wishing I knew if life was real or not,
it’s 2020 it feels like that doesn’t mean anything,
feels like we got way but somehow we are still caught,

here in this moment,
with no one except ourselves,
what do you do if ignorance is bliss,
but knowledge is wealth,

which to choose,
the choice is up to you,
I can’t give you any advice,
because I don’t even know what’s true,

though I do know one thing,
when I take a breath and breath it’s,
if you can’t be with the one you love,
then love the one you can be with….
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