Slam Poetry

Tinder

Tap the app, swipe left or right

… mostly left, who am I kidding?

Mostly for fun but deep inside

Hoping to see something…

Someone…

Out of the ordinary?

Ironic.

 Isn’t this whole experience

out of the ordinary?

Since when are we so comfortable…

so lazy

That it became ok to look for love

by clicking through a bunch of

pictures and

reading a short description?

 

Why is the complexity of feelings

reduced to a name, an age and

a location?

Is this a testament to how cluelessly disconnected

we truly are

from the world?

 

Why is it less socially acceptable

to see someone cute in a café

and try to talk to them…

in person

in the moment

anchored by a genuine spark of attraction

Than to talk to them

After ten minutes of scrolling

On your phone screen?

Why dehumanise such a humane experience?

 

Are we nothing but an automated

High functioning machine

That’s fallen into a routine:

Work or school

Home

Some friends

And apps…

Upon apps upon apps upon apps

That even love has now become

A profitable business?

 

“Less time, less investment, more convenient”

– Should that be the phrase defining

Meeting a potential partner

That deserves to see

All your vulnerability

All your darkness and your light

All that… makes you what you are?

 

Is it just me?

Am I somehow living

In a different century

Unable to fall in step with the times

The norms

The values

Of a modern-day society?

 

Or are there others

That limp slowly

Through everyday morality

Hoping to find someone

To match their pace

Their thinking…

Just like me?

 

 

 

 

 

A long time coming

All my life

I’ve done all I could

To ground myself in…

“Reality”

Grasp this concept I couldn’t understand;

Shaved of bit by bit of my soul,

Hurt myself to feel rooted in,

When all I wanted to do was float away…

On my imagination

To places no one’s seen before

And no one else ever will.

Until one day, I realised that reality

Is a concept

Socially created to try and explain the…

Unexplainable

… That is, the concept of existence.

And I did not fit in their pattern.

That day, weight lifted off,

I turned to bubbles of 

oxygenated happiness,

And I finally understood that reality

Is what I make of it,

And their “normality”

Is such a boring existence…

Sloths pity them.

So, I stand back and finally…

Finally,

Get on my boat

Sit back and relax

Draw the curtains 

And see

What I’ve been craving to 

For so long…

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