If this gets 20 likes I’ll DM my Soul.
6:02 am, eyes crusted, dry mouth
the cavern in my chest grows larger
as the light saturates the bedroom
and reflects a tired face
on a smudged black screen.
I don’t know you Caitlin32,
but your life is an exhibition
and I’m just a greedy voyeur
trying to fill a giant cavity
with your perfect pastiche
of placid domesticity.
Gold watches, invisalign smiles
your curated lifestyle content beams at me,
like a radio transmitter
set to crippling self-loathing
with the reverb of an envious pout.
Drag myself out of bed,
it’s time to feed the bullshit machine
with artfully contoured cheeks
and an empty family posed with
tepid, day old Acai bowls—
‘God damnit Jeffery,
I don’t care if you’re tired,
you need to SMILE for the likes.’
AOL 4.0, Town Square Chat Room, 12:17 AM
She’s looking for an answer
to her lonely adolescence,
by shooting wishful invitations
into a sea of ASCII dicks.
She’s looking for the frisson
of a soul-struck witness,
something more than KooLMiKe86
asking ‘wanna cyber? u got any pics?’
She’ll find progs, bots, and pedophiles
maybe a digital boyfriend or two,
but she’ll never find her 8 bit kinship,
even the dial-up world has its cliques.
Nancy Botta lives in Berwyn, Illinois and has been previous published in WINK: Writers in the Know, Three Lines Poetry, and our very own Soft Cartel.