“How do you use social media?”
I forget the wonders within, sometimes,
when I focus on the outside where
others wear cloaks, turn to that
keyboard ready to dagger
others with words. Some drown
in the ones and zeros masking
their beauty, power, wonder
as they crown others with likes
and views. In the end they smell
of others musk…
A few are the Joseph’s of this world,
wearing colorful coats that shine
even in the darkness of keyboard wars,
these warriors soldier on
spreading their light, not
giving into the fight. They
feel, that which we’ve shunned,
they heal with their arts and views,
peeling and filtering layers
we claim are us…
Then there is me…fighting
to not let social media use
me or abuse my power by
burying me with its noise,
blacking out my thoughts
or reigning my system.
On my palms this is how I poise
to use them:
Twitter, now my X, is like
a friend who once was a stranger
forest with diverse birds though
full of wildfire kinda danger
one spark and you’re blown
out of tweets. So in my corner
I curve my niche when I lay on
books and blanket myself with words
while I take in other views. I will
make no noise but neither am I quiet:
there is power in my silent tweets.
Beyond the screen I am the lens,
Instagram my album holding on
to memories I find savory, displaying
my heart in bookish pixels. Each
picture tells a story worth a thousand
words. Many will not decipher this
the few who do commune with me
on this altar, feeding off each others
arty hearts.
A treasure trove of ideas I constantly
pin myself on the first flight to Pinterest.
It serves every dish, grows every flower,
has room for every soul, perfect wonder.
I enjoy it’s solitude knowing it’s street are
hush but others souls whisper through
these arts, words, designs than board
it’s streets… This is my dopamine, it gives
I take.
Tiktok ticks off my time as
it talks expansively making
me stalk on grounds I knew
not off. I’d laugh till cry,
cry till am awed…
and though it’s a chamber
I’d love to know all it’s nooks
and crannies, I fail to walk
on its trail. So I consume,
run, resume and wonder
why I went back to it. Again.
My digital playground, a garden
at the same time, WordPress is
the sacred space I paint using words,
breath life on the art using emotions
and motions of a pencil. I plant ideas,
pluck and taste others fruits, flowering
into the power I know I am. It’s wears
bit of me, though mostly a mirror.
Threads tried to weave me to
people from myriad of place,
crafting a connected story
as X yet I can fathom it’s canvas.
So it’s sits, laden with promise
begin me to caress it away into beauty.
One day…
In Reddit where anonymity reigns
I strip off my identity and wear any
crown I see fit: not drowning who
I am, rather making me see what
I normal would turn a blind I to.
I wonder on others wonderlands
hoping to leave soulful footprints
on this sandy shores…
Empress of Bookingham 