Everybody’s angles point obtuse: stop,
insufficient effort placed, polish black.
Countless waves, critical voices yelling
harsh pronouncement, without support offered.
I don’t like this, refusal to say why
easier to fake interest at distance;
subtweet poor arrogance, emotion free
so no-one ever hears or tries escape.

Then finally, in storms most brutal phase,
subtle eye of comprehension opens
surveying emerged truth: competition
dictates largest, angriest troll alive.
No race to finish first or best, just be
what soul decides most useful waste of space.
Your subtweets are a pointless exercise
ignore these haters: plough deeper furrows.


Written by Internet of Words

Published Writer, 53-ish / Still European / Trauma Survivor / Photos / Exercise / Bisexual / Chaotic Good / HUMAN SPORK / Mental Health / Daily Twitter Short Story / @ProperBard in Residence, My House / Shortlisted & Published Author / Original poems/fiction © IoW 2020