Some words are only good as fillers.

Look at the models on my screen like, um, self-esteem-killers

I can’t shop myself that well so I’m not as full

As hopeful or joyful or filled with anything but the

Ideas of what I should be, how I should be perceived.


My words are whispered out of a straw in my mouth

And I only drink half the glass. Um. Half empty,

Half full of water that isn’t as blue as it would be

With an audience, to help reassure my self-assurance

But a rose that isn’t forever could easily just be copy-pasted.

We’ve been set at a different pace and um, it’s messing with our motivation

Why do I search media when I already know the content?

It’s -

Um -


It’s about being part of a social circle and a society

And being a part of a place comprised solely on what I want to see.

But words shouldn’t be padded.

And happy memories that weren’t documented, still happened.

And I don’t want to bury my words, but send them to outer space

And our technologies can make the world a brighter place, but it takes more than what we’re giving.

It takes the unruly curls and bushy brows and the establishment of the here-and-now.

Destroying the identities that are shrouded in mystery and

Instead, create a history for those after us.

So they can feel comfortable with their loudest laughter or their softest sigh


With the knowledge that who they are doesn’t depend on a like.

So I’m done with coasting along, hiding, living life under a cloud of stealth.

It’s time to reject the Um, and stop filtering myself.

This poem is about: 


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