An Imaginable Life

In a mental Hospital I wrote about the dangers of technology, this is the revised version of that poem

As reels are the new, or they were in my past, 

How many creeps study so fast?

If knowledge is leaked on what a woman likes, 

Their private desires streamed for public likes. 

How does that woman protect her own? 

If love is built on tinder like a match, 

It’s just a game of the perfect fuck to last, 

As someone that’s used this app to find love

“Everyone” wants off, be free to live and love, 

Hiding their desires and no longer being so stone

 It’s a curse and a blessing to be alone

Yet in reality they’re watching, 

Creeping on breasts, 

Wondering which one they can play with the best. 

As the phone grows more prominent, 

Everything gets easier, 

Let me order a blonde, an asian, 

It allows us to please ourselves easier.

The longer you look for that love, 

For sexual satisfaction that fits like a glove, 

The more you’re in fear of living without a mate, 

Daring fate to break that date. 

But it’s not just tinder, or a hinge to our future, 

Technology spirals us towards an unknown suture. 

If relationships are built on texts and wifi, 

A love slipped on a worry of a shadows lie, 

It worries me as our unconscious slips before we die. 

The dark area of shadow, where we love, where we should live, 

It is left on a screen and never meets lips again.

It became about tone, but how the message could be misconstrued, 

Text messages couldn’t carry love sweet swoon.

Who was to say what the words could mean, 

A “help me” vs “Help me”, 

What could the difference mean?

There was no stance, no tone to follow, 

I want to hear a beautiful voice or the mistakes that follow. 

It causes the drama, creates the distance, 

And murders conversation 

Or depths existense. 

I chased love, a private dance, 

One in the dark and shrewd in stance, 

Leave the phone behind for psychology’s chance.

If I could find our problems in two minutes flat, 

A quick glance at A.I.’s fat chance, 

That’s always an apparent fact that won’t solve problems that last. 

How can I breathe, check with my partner, 

Understand feelings over apparent facts, 

Facts from a glance.

Some people know movie tracks, 

Some watch their phone, 

It’s a technological train, headed towards a place we all know. 

Our postures decline, our weight increases, 

Our bodies adapt, we slowly transform, 

Into a horrible trap as if we were unborn.

We evolve towards the light, 

Moths towards our flame, 

pulling us in a direction where we have no shame. 

Technology flows as a spark from the tower, 

Sending a current in any direction 

That we may breathe each hour. 

At some points I stop, can you hear the current,

Wondering if technology will replace air at the moment. 

If it was a wave, 

Tinkinering with my head each time, 

Could I nod downwards and reject the game.

My reflection, if I followed my eyes, 

Does it go towards the back of my mind, 

Or does it follow my phone where I look for a rhyme. 

The light was my reflection, the phone my mind, 

My personality, am I schizophrenic for reels this time. 

The light grew stronger in my darker days. 

The dark hole. Do you remember it?

Stationary. Sedentary. A stare. A forgotten gaze towards a light.

We were young.

Too young. 

The light was harsh, our environment harsher, 

The world surrounded us as our rooms grew darker. 

They locked us in a cage, 

Surrounded by nobody, 

Not a faint sound but the TV was somebody

We rushed to the door but the outside was locked

We longed for fresh air,

But the disease had us stopped.

We called our friends

They were in the dark as well 

We knew nothing of the outside 

So nobody could tell.

The screen had its games, the movies its stories

We grew love for fictional without real love stories

The love wasn’t real, a fairytale, a ghost

We weren’t acquainted with our own host

Our bodies grew tired, we stayed in our beds

Some of us even found depressive meds.

Our parents lost their jobs, 

Our homes grew poor, 

I’m sure we’ll recover and have a loving family once more.

Christmas grew dim, the presents were thin

And the coal wasn’t a lie.

The cookies were sweet, tasty and well,

But somehow Santa didn’t seem so swell.

We were still in our house, 

Locked in our doors, remembering the past that was no more.

Then came July,

We could feel the heat, but air conditioning was all that was neat.

Vacations grew slim, our pools were empty, 

People grew large and the sun grew dimly.

We yearned for grass, or for an ocean breeze, 

To travel away for the sunscreen brought ease,

To play with our friends was all but a tease.

The screens stayed with us, a friend till the end to make ease.

Then school came around on our screens once again

We longed for classrooms, our screens weren’t learning

We were being taught but we were actually yearning.

We yearned for grass, or for a fresh breeze, 

To travel away from the screens to bring ease. 

To play with our friends but all we got was a tease.

The screens stayed with us, a friend till the end

It stayed by our side even if we didn’t make it till the end.

The cage grew tight, eventually it loosened

But the masks scared faces but we couldn’t lose them.

We were a moth to a flame, 

A person with a light, 

Almost as if we held a candle in our dark night. 

Social Media, a game played for numbers, 

A new way to make money and grow followers, 

Each gains powers from a number in vain, 

Of how many people know their name. 

Each kid an account, each parent two names,

It replaces sharing pictures and talking about memories today. 

It’s a popularity contest of course this we all know, 

But now the numbers cast a large shadow that looms low. 

Of how much money can you make fake videos of Rome, 

These new age travelers that live for a “moment” 

That never grows.

They bear a miserable course, where the video absorbs it, 

The phone stores the memory but hope gold affords it, 

Leaving their soul, cold looking for warmth, 

They sell their memories and hope people adore it the most. 

It may not make cents to take advantage of common sense, 

As they film on the road, making a show of the earth, 

I get the privilege of enjoying the dirt. 

The mountains call their name 

But they don’t set foot on a mountain mane.

Where quiet travelers go to find peace and be sane. 

But now in this moment, 

That I’ve left the phone behind, 

I love the idea of bringing back mechanical chimes.

A camera, a watch, an alarm clock, a cookbook, 

I hope these things don’t get lost like phonebooks. 

I hope to spin vinyl’s, listen to them softly, 

Enjoy their taste and remember them fondly.

Without my phone I may acquire more stuff, 

But I hold it valuable, a privilege to touch. 

Who knows maybe the value is now for such. 

As I go into the past, where no phones interrupted joy,

I found a home in mother nature’s silent toys.

It wasn’t in church, it wasn’t in prayer, 

It was in hearing her song from birds in clean air.

Just listening to doves or rain falling in ease, 

Going down the stairs to where there’s new leafs. 

As I find earth’s hidden treasures 

Melt in cold spring water, sprawl in her meadows, 

I found peace in going towards her well water.

Each day, each week, 

I began replacing tools, 

Without apps life wasn’t automatic and old wheels turned. 

Photographs became real, a watch became for style, the clock for fashion, 

And a cookbook made for great meals. 

Books became valuable, sealed in paper, 

And ask for no attention. 

I drew less power, my body closer to her, 

Ears perk up and colors burst with laughter. 

As I lost sight of the past, 

When I quit the phone to clear my mast, 

I reached a delusion and an emotional dance.

So now how do I operate, 

Knowing this curse, with all this information, 

It slowed me down like a curse. 

I watched as they bussled, looked down in shame, 

I watched their phones carry their names. 

So now I don’t bow down, 

Back no longer hunched over, 

standing strong amongst a crowd of phone holders.