Trying to flirt over Snapchat
has severely damaged me.
Every photo a painfully self
conscious ordeal.
The other night I spent
10 minutes in the bathroom
trying to decide
how much lip to bite.
Too fleshy, too toothy,
weird expression, blinked.
Contrive the casual,
canned candid. Don't think
that lock of hair tossed
idly on my forehead was
an accident.
But I'm through with
putting production quality
into Snapchat. Today I fired
the lighting crew.
Now I just send dark poetry
to girls on tinder.
Death to pixel prince charming,
I have no time to portray the
perfect.
Gawk in awe at my gangling frame
all gory and raw. No pretense,
I tended to manage perceptions but
I am no longer the shepherd of your
opinion of me.
My rough edges are the open pieces
of a jigsaw puzzle.
I was cut, we were all cut.
We bleed from our edges and
we are real at our edges. If
there is anything real in you,
let it shine or let it suck, whether
perfect or putrid, let your soul
spill over and someone will like the
taste of you. The world is thirsty
for soul, will you drop the dam between
your heart and your mouth? Flood me, I
am withered and long to swim in you,
the river.
I have low esteem for my selfie
because it is so far from myself. The
irony is that they only call it a filter
if you look like a dog. It's a filter the
moment you are anything but what you are.
Hello Steemit! My name is Jonathan Turnick
I am a writer and poet based in the Pacific Northwest of the United States
This is the place to access all of my work, I post my latest and greatest here first! I love sharing with the vibrant community here!
Here is a picture so you can put a face to the name, don't judge my highly contrived selfie too much!
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