Like

Thumbs of approval mark
the brutality of being
human, of

the obscenely beautiful and
beautiful obscene;
proteges of popularity and
perfect teeth struggling
smiles on
the other side of
photogenic disparity
covet.

And despite the social
summit I’ve always carried on
like a knapsack on
my back
the rest would the peak, it was
never quite
the catalyst for my
more masochistic tendencies.

Like pretending you’d travel 
the universe with me if I clicked
that absurd gesture one more time-

whole storybooks of
untruths in every
loosely associated
photo posted,

as you coasted into
the arms of others.

Shame that with so
many worlds to
discover, you orbited 
rudderless around
familiar rocks

while I was left
to catalogue
your
communal loneliness,

rebel princess without
a cause.

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