I never know how much context to provide preceding a piece of poetry, but here is all the context I’ll give you for this one. This poem was inspired by a friend who loves poetry and is herself a prolific poet. I myself do not do much dabbling in poetry, whether reading or writing, but I sent this poem to the friend whose post inspired it, and she compared it to an ee cummings poem, and that made my day. So here it is; I hope you enjoy it.
Facebook tantalizes me with temptation: “Check out your memories!”
No warning label. Proceed without caution of any kind.
What is in my memories?
Sometimes pure, nostalgic fun
Tendrils and wisps of a more innocent, more slim, more confident, past self
Less care worn.
Less everything, it sometimes seems.
Most often, though
the things that crop up are not things at all, but people.
Former friends. In the comments.
I went through a phase, you see,
in my younger days, when I realized
didn’t really need
to see my every thought, picture, fear, or confession.
Facebook tantalized me back then too.
Unfriend, it whispered.
Too Republican? Unfriend!
Too girly? Too sexist? Too liberal? Too Christian? Too atheist? Too cryptic? Too verbose? Too serious? Too silly?
I created the perfect echo chamber,
full of those wonderful creatures who only think the way I do,
and now my feed is clear, concise,
. . . somewhat empty, and . . .
a little redundant.
My old friends show up faithfully, but only in my memories, and
Facebook tantalizes me still:
Oh, but Facebook. That’s one temptation to which
I won’t succumb. I’d choke
trying to swallow that much pride.