Verbal Masturbation

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 A picture tells us nothing—

not what is, not what was,

not the smell, not the sound.

A soul less glance at something,

that something which, to some, is everything,

and to an ascerbic man like me,

is not anything.


We smile.

We pose ,in beautiful tailored clothes,

against a beautiful background, I suppose,

to look good for someone who knows

very little of me—

or how I feel

about the world,

about my life,

about the heartfelt joys that survive through strife.


I am a person.

I have lived a life.

Please—get to know the real me,

not through a picture,

not even through these words.

Because in this shallow world of empty sight,

every “like” on a photograph

cuts—quietly—like a knife.


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