Note: A lot of poems lately. Crazy. When using the word “you,” I include myself and anyone reading this piece.
Turn away from the screeching SOS signs
From you pen and paper.
Ignore the moans from the hindered
Paints and canvases.
You have the patriotic colors of
Red and white
To turn to.
I do not speak of two-thirds
Of colors from a nationalist’s wet dream.
I’m taking about the
Flashes of Netflix and YouTube
Conspicuously and subliminally
Overtaking your sense of oneness.
These fictitious and idolized
Friends have claimed us as our own.
Why turn away from them now?
It’s difficult to wake up
From the comfortable LSD footage of
Someone creating something
That you don’t have to.
Screw being the one tie dye fleck
In a conformed white t-shirt.
After many attacks of addicting detergent,
The garb is squeaky clean.
And white noise
Keep your clothes nice and fresh.
Yay for the infomercials for life
Because you didn’t have to come up with that
Don’t you dare upchuck.
The bile has become tastier now.
No one truly wants to withdraw
From an alluring illness.
Repetition becomes an addiction too.
Weaving something new from you own fingers is tiring.
The same romantic, heroic, violent, sensational
Picks, clicks, and images
Have been the top conveniences.
It’s easier to find the newest cat video
Than to find your old notebook.
Art cries for you
And you refuse to hear her.
She is much more than a petty damsel in distress.
She is a lady.
Sophistication and purpose
Are all in her bundles and curves.
Yet you decided to stuff her into a desk drawer
To give light to shiny laptop
On the pedestal.
Binging at the bar of
“Just one more season,”
“Just one more scroll,”
Is the act of true triumph nowadays.
Why don’t you give your lady a chance again?
Let the fingernails chip and be covered
In acryllics and scribbles.
Not lustful chip crusts
Curling inside while hugging your whole fingers
To accompany your time at a phony, self-made, movie theater.
Respond to her SOS.