Echo

I wouldn't wear the big fuckoff boots
if I weren't okay with staring.
None of us would.
Those who say otherwise
lie.

Alternative expression attention seeks,
it's inherent to the equation.
By fuck you, we mean fuck me.
Hard.

I'm well aware
my life is a fucking spectacle.
I made it,
wanted this way,
and I may sleep uneasy on wrinkled sheets
but I'm not going to a goddamn hotel.

I'm paranoid.
I talk too much.

different talk in different places
allows sliced up views into my head, a
terrible picture of who I might be,
identity impossible to internet glean anyway.

Regardless all
surveys filled,
pictures uploaded,
personal information available:
Dear Masses,
I can never hold your hand through a computer screen.
And even if I could,
I still couldn't explain my self via the internet.

the information's there.
Pick up pieces
fit them together
any old way, I'm flexible.
Cyber space eases dismissive tendencies-
filter enough other through you,
and you cease
to Be.Come. Do. Change.