Assurance

Somewhere on this site, someone is writing their 50th poem in a row about how romantic they are, and all I can think is

Can’t you feel anything more than self importance?

Can’t you do anything more than break your own heart?

Isn’t there more than this?

How am I supposed to write any sort of meaningful poetry on a site that has turned into a content factory, churning out wave after wave of sanitized, empty words; how do I let myself post these works when it feels closer to shredding my dignity than sharing my heart?

You might think my words too callous, my work too critical, but if my emotions were as shallow as most of what I have read here, I would wonder if I was really human.

Is the pinnacle of the human experience really just young men complaining they are single?

Is poetry just a new currency for digital fame, another way to get traffic to your page, bring you closer to the almighty dollar?

Have we let art become just another algorithm to extort views?

I cannot bite back the vomit and try to speak through burning throat and watering eyes anymore; I cannot scroll through anymore empty platitudes and take comments seriously when they are less substantial than cotton candy

Just typing out the word “vomit” feels more intimate and human than

“Good Job!” “Wow!” “Awesome!”

This is feedback for high school children stumbling over their thoughts and trying to hit their word counts

Somewhere, someone is writing another formulaic love poem,

Writing another hopeless romantic list of all the things they would do for their lover,

and all I can think is

We have to be more than this