Valencia, slumber, and inkwell

Shades and tainted images hide well

The blemishes and marks that always dwell

 

Lest depicting realness, an uncensored weakness 

A witty skill, unknown to those seeking just a thrill

The humor of one, not funny to many

 

Yet my image is

Splintered, split 

Crumbled, clipped

Fractured, fixed

Erased, effaced

 

For the preference of one 

For an alluring taste to the tip of the tongue

For the perfect bits of media chum 

For an audience of many parts, yet fixed to single fishing braid

 

Yet I am not a piece of bait

 

In a single upload, cropped photos

And tinted tones entice them all

I’d wonder if anything but picturesque

Legs and skin modified to its best would interest

A pool of communities, searching, liking from sea to sea

 

In a single feed, I cannot find authenticity

In an online thread, I’m misled

To think that only excellence,

Purity, flawlessness in quality

Should imbed and sink deep

And fault, error, all trials

Should tread far, and never again reap

 

Instagram, twitter, Facebook,

What is there to grasp? What is there to see?

A conceived image, a modified visage

Posted by Mr. Insecurity, Ms. Anonymity

With an Angular chin, thin waist, untainted face

No sight of a crook, no space for nooks

A sight a follower’s inadvertence took

Wonder what they’ll do when there’s no hook