the critical
self-loathing self
appears,
addresses
all so harshly
all the burns,
abrasions,
acid flavored
bitterness
of petty wanks
and piles it on
‘til no one’s safe
from skeletons
or caustic
acrimonial
exchanges.
intolerance begets
intolerance here
with convenient,
random indifference
there with
laser focused,
sharp-tongued
condemnation.
unity of purpose
has escaped
the conversation.
and perhaps
there is no goal,
no glorious
over-arching
expectation –
only fear
of what
we’ve not become
as hatred
for each other’s
view
replaced our love
for one another.
our critical
self-loathing self
appeared,
became
our personality.
It is our personality and has always been. The media is what we have made it to be. And for all of the fingers so determined to find a new story, or another edge to an existing story in a 24-hour cycle, with the touch of it on a smart device every hour, every minute, every second of the day, we do indeed expose ourselves to the notion that we are less than what we imagine ourselves to be. We don’t want depth, honesty, or the truth because where that might lead us, an unknown, is scary as hell. What we need to do is use that finger to turn it off. Find reliable sources, and stop feeling better about our collective selves by watching the trains wreck. Blame the media? I blame us. They are just giving us what we want. With that being said … like the poem.