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Just Content" (Spoken Word Poem)**
These days...
We are reduced to a scroll,
A thumb’s flicker,
A gasp trapped in a stitched-together reel.
We are *content*—
Not flesh.
Not ache.
Not whispered pleas.
I teetered on the edge—
No metaphor, just gravity’s whisper,
Where breath frayed like a match in the wind,
Where my pulse hummed a hymn of almost-endings,
And all I craved... was a hand.
*Just a hand.*
Not a hero, just a human to murmur,
“I see you.”
But their gaze—
Glazed not with empathy,
But the sterile shimmer of pixels,
Peered through filters.
Cropped frames.
Catchphrases.
Algorithms.
“#Heartbreaking #ThoughtsAndPrayers #ContentWarning ”
I screamed into the void—
But my cries dissolved
Beneath TikTok’s thunderous drops,
The scripted sobs of influencers,
The monetized echo of my unraveling.
I bled,
And they framed me in 4K.
I crumbled,
And they hashtagged my remains.
When help arrived—
(Too late, too late)—
It found no life to salvage,
Just a trending spectacle.
No saviors here.
Only lenses hungry for light,
Only fingers poised to share,
Only ghosts with follower counts.
Now—
I am immortalized in loops and buffers,
A pixelated elegy.
But my last breath?
A silent scream swallowed by the feed.
*We are content.
Consumed,
Scrolled past,
Forgotten—
Until the next tragedy trends.*
These days...
We are reduced to a scroll,
A thumb’s flicker,
A gasp trapped in a stitched-together reel.
We are *content*—
Not flesh.
Not ache.
Not whispered pleas.
I teetered on the edge—
No metaphor, just gravity’s whisper,
Where breath frayed like a match in the wind,
Where my pulse hummed a hymn of almost-endings,
And all I craved... was a hand.
*Just a hand.*
Not a hero, just a human to murmur,
“I see you.”
But their gaze—
Glazed not with empathy,
But the sterile shimmer of pixels,
Peered through filters.
Cropped frames.
Catchphrases.
Algorithms.
“#Heartbreaking #ThoughtsAndPrayers #ContentWarning ”
I screamed into the void—
But my cries dissolved
Beneath TikTok’s thunderous drops,
The scripted sobs of influencers,
The monetized echo of my unraveling.
I bled,
And they framed me in 4K.
I crumbled,
And they hashtagged my remains.
When help arrived—
(Too late, too late)—
It found no life to salvage,
Just a trending spectacle.
No saviors here.
Only lenses hungry for light,
Only fingers poised to share,
Only ghosts with follower counts.
Now—
I am immortalized in loops and buffers,
A pixelated elegy.
But my last breath?
A silent scream swallowed by the feed.
*We are content.
Consumed,
Scrolled past,
Forgotten—
Until the next tragedy trends.*
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