Here’s this funny story–

I’ll say it in all my glory;

Trapped behind a screen–

Though this entrapment entraps not me–

But every living soul;

Since Zuckerberg opened the Gates of Hades;

Some people hate me, but I’m still glorious–

Behind this screen, within your dream;

Seen or unseen, here’s my glory–

I’m very good at telling a story.

But this story is not gruesome or ghastly;

It is vastly boring, and beige;

Not something I’d put on stage, I wouldn’t try–

People love to give odes to things that petrify–

Horrify and stupefy, and much of it they always dramatize;

Romanticize

And fantasize it will happen to them–

They say it in secret and softly to them–

Selves that will never feel like they have their glory–

I don’t feel sorry. For they seek out pain to feel alive.

I am alive.

I was alive before you and will be alive after–

I know pain, and by causing it–

Nothing I gain, so I don’t surrender–

To the dramatic, romantic fury that is human madness.

But I’m so sorry–

I forgot to tell you the story.

You see, it is not a story I’d tell;

It wouldn’t sell, even if it were not trapped in a screen–

And made it to the bigger screen, or on stages, within pages–

It’s very simple you see:

When you walk past–

I feel happy.

But here’s an edit:

Will I live to regret it?

It’s simply behind a screen—

When you walk past;

Worried and fast—

I see the vast unseen;

A girl uptaken—

By the fury of human madness.

One of them—

Not me.


And I feel a mix of joy and regret–

Knowing you’re not knowing it yet–

All you could truly be;

To see what I see–

This lonely voice within a screen–

Sees such a glimmer,

You see.


What’s a story–

What’s a rhyme–

Can they capture these small potentials–

Of everyday life?


We are all masterpieces yet started–

Sitting and waiting until our lives are parted–

From the screen.


And as I lie in wait for the start–

Of the day when our lives do part–

I ponder in front of my screen:

That girl uptaken–

By the dramatic, romantic fury–

Of human madness:

Was she not you–

But me?

And do not mock me:

I see mirrors in my screen.


There are mirrors, I’m told–

Since the ages of old–

Trapped within us, floating through us–

In our souls;

When we ignore our reflection–

And claim we’re unaffected–

By the billions of lights shining back–

“Oh, them? Random deflections…”

“Imperfections”, we say of them;

Then we attack;

We fear;

Dramatize and romanticize–

And bring human madness so near…


But I see mirrors in my screen.

I see lights.

I see what might transpire.

And potentials that may be cast into the fire.

And when you walk past, I feel happy.

And indeed, it may be temporary.

But so is my screen.


And could they sell?

Infinite potentials and love spells:

Life’s beautiful, temporary hells?

A moment where I feel a connection–
May just be my own reflection.

And it sees itself and so feels happy–
For we are all a piece of the great light shining back.


Or perhaps…

It is you?





It could always

Be you.

You, Me, or July–

The wilting tree or the firefly;

All are my mirror.

And though I cannot comprehend you–

There is still a hand I can lend you–

I do hope compassion does not offend you.

But if you see a heart stretching towards you–

Full of good and love and purity:

Be sure to dust off your screen.

If you’ve comprehended this absurdity–

You may understand it to be your own love.

From you.

Not me.

And I know it wouldn’t sell–

As this poem reaches its swell:

What was the story to tell?

Mirrors, mirrors on my wall:

I wish for no one here to fall.

And so I say please,

Get help.

Oh very please,

Seek help.

And I hope you now may see,

You also help me.