Some words are only good as fillers.
Look at the models on my screen like, um, self-esteem-killers
I can’t shop myself that well so I’m not as full
As hopeful or joyful or filled with anything but the
Ideas of what I should be, how I should be perceived.
My words are whispered out of a straw in my mouth
And I only drink half the glass. Um. Half empty,
Half full of water that isn’t as blue as it would be
With an audience, to help reassure my self-assurance
But a rose that isn’t forever could easily just be copy-pasted.
We’ve been set at a different pace and um, it’s messing with our motivation
Why do I search media when I already know the content?
It’s about being part of a social circle and a society
And being a part of a place comprised solely on what I want to see.
But words shouldn’t be padded.
And happy memories that weren’t documented, still happened.
And I don’t want to bury my words, but send them to outer space
And our technologies can make the world a brighter place, but it takes more than what we’re giving.
It takes the unruly curls and bushy brows and the establishment of the here-and-now.
Destroying the identities that are shrouded in mystery and
Instead, create a history for those after us.
So they can feel comfortable with their loudest laughter or their softest sigh
With the knowledge that who they are doesn’t depend on a like.
So I’m done with coasting along, hiding, living life under a cloud of stealth.
It’s time to reject the Um, and stop filtering myself.