I Am The Hunchback In the Park


Yesteryear’s park is today’s Facebook. I sit, alone, in the crowd. Between my screen and my chair. Inside my room
Away from the rest of the family
Under the same roof
I Am The Hunchback In the Park.
Fast food. Take-away pizza.
Hissing my name through the letter-box: Mister, Mister. Slurping cola from a covered cup, through a straw
Nestled between the melting ice-cubes.
Delivered within fifteen minutes because sixteen would make it free.
I know everyone. I am friends with no one.
Not alone, but lonely yet.
Today’s Hunchback In the Park.
Careless cruelty isolates me.
People taunt me, because I am not perfect.
Therefore, I close my account on Facebook – And open another one, under a new identity.
And await the friending requests
To roll in, for my new, flawless persona. It does not pay to be sincere.
Till it happens… I conjure up new friends… Perfect ones. Surreal ones.
Because I Am The Hunchback In the Park.
Sinister people pretend they are who they are not
And hide who they really are. Reality and imagination meet and intertwine, melding.
I may as well be a broken statue in the graveyard
Or a nameless tramp under a bridge.
Age, gender, race, orientation, looks… Who knows? Who cares?
I am the nameless hunchback in the park; the lonely phantasm at the laptop keyboard.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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